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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852951">Good Boy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_my_alt/pseuds/this_is_my_alt'>this_is_my_alt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Violence, Consensual Sex, Death, Dirty Talk, Disturbing Themes, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Knotting, Master/Pet, Minor furry themes, Multiverse, Possessive Behavior, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reverse Harem, Slow Burn, Somnophilia, Soul Bond, Stabbing, Stalking, Strangulation, Swearing, Unhealthy Relationships, Whipping, reader is female</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:35:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>107,517</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22852951</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_my_alt/pseuds/this_is_my_alt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A misunderstanding lands you in a meeting of monsters and fetishists. From the chaos you find yourself in the dynamic company of a kinky Mutt, gasterblaster! Sans, and a cat-ear wearing Axe.<br/>Deals are made. Boundaries are broken. You become thoroughly entangled in this group of horny skeletons with very unhealthy coping mechanisms. Even with your PATIENCE, and the comfort of your cute rescue collie, there’s some skeletons that are better left in the closet…</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gasterblaster!Sans/Reader, Papryus (Fellswap)/Reader, Papyrus (Underswap)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Fellswap)/Reader, Sans (Horrortale)/Reader, Sans (Underswap)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>340</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>890</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ebott City surrounds you in all its glory. It’s rush hour, and traffic on the road next to you is bustling with the purr of engines, honks and the occasional screech of brakes. Your dog’s collar jingles pleasantly as she trots beside you. Downtown Ebott reeks of smoke and hot garbage but your adorable border collie seems to revel in it as she keeps her snout pinned to the concrete, tugging against her leash following the scent trail of god knows what, tail wagging.</p><p>“Wuffie! No eating the trash!” You tug lightly on the leash, steering her away from the discarded, half-eaten takeout on the edge of the sidewalk. Despite your pet’s tendency to get into trouble, her shenanigans warm your heart. An iota of excitement runs through you as you anticipate meeting other animal lovers like yourself. You’re not exactly a natural with strangers, but sharing a common interest improves your abilities exceptionally. Plus, you’ve always though how a person treats animals is a sure reflection of their character. People who cherishes their pets can’t be awful, right?</p><p>You double check the address scribbled on your arm in pen. It was a flier you’d picked up on your walk to work that’d helped you discover this meet-up. The details of it were a bit fuzzy now. However, the premise stuck out to you as being a great idea! The location was only a block away now as you whistle to yourself, brainstorming pet-related icebreakers and puns.</p><p>Aha! Destination reached. The entrance is a bit…rougher than you expected. It looks like the organizer must have reserved a dive bar for the event. It’s incredibly cool of the venue owner to allow pets there, you think. Undeterred, you press open the door.</p><p>The entrance releases a <em>woosh</em> of air and the scent of booze overwhelms you. The building is lighted dimly compared to the natural summer light outdoors. You step inside as your eyes adjust.</p><p>The first thing your mind registers is the lack of pets. There is a conspicuous lack of animals for Wuffie to interact with analyze the environment from her eye-level. The second thing you notice is how oddly the building’s occupants are dressed. Instead of the usual diverse palette you’d expect from an average group of people, there seemed to be an awful lot of black leather…and neon. Neon…fur. Was that a fursuit?!?</p><p>You see a bunny monster making out with a man in a leather dog mask and little else. In fact, most of the occupants were making out. Your face heats as you see the monster’s hand travel lower and lower down their partner’s torso. To your right you hear the crack of a whip and a scantily clad monster moans at every strike. You got the feeling this wasn’t the kind of meet-up you were looking for…</p><p>No one’s acknowledged your presence yet. Maybe you could sneak off without anyone noticing. Pretend this awkward mishap never happened.</p><p>As you inch backward towards the exit, Wuffie pulls you in the opposite direction. Taken by surprise, you are yanked further into the room. You huff at exertion from the unexpected sprinting. Wuffie finally comes to a halt in the back of the bar and rest your hands on your knees, staring at your feet, trying to catch your breath.</p><p>Looking up slightly, you notice a pair of skeletal shins. Shins that Wuffie is fervently chewing on. You look up in shock, seeing that those shins are attached to a whole skeletal monster, looking thoroughly amused at the situation.</p><p>He is extremely tall and slim, forcing you to crane up your neck to look at his face, which is eerily calm. Two golden fangs highlight his maw. His attire is slightly less outrageous than the average attendant to this meeting—a blood orange turtleneck predominately covered by a black hoodie with a white, fluffy fur lining pulled up over his skull. However, you noticed he wasn’t entirely exempted from the kinky attire. A spiked collar rests over his collarbone, a leash hanging from it.</p><p>Still in shock, you manage to scold, “Wuffie, this gentleman isn’t one of your bone treats! Stop drooling all over him!”</p><p>The skeleton takes a drag of what looks to be half of a bone shaped cigarette and smirks. “i could give you a “bone treat” if you’d ask nicely…darlin’,” he remarks, voice low and husky. It takes several moments for you to process the innuendo as you split your attention between him and Wuffie, continuing to gnaw on his fibula. You choose to ignore it for now as you blubber out an apology.</p><p>“I—I’m so sorry! She’s usually so well behaved! Are you hurt?” you stutter as you pull your Collie away from his leg, feeling the bone for damage. You don’t notice the skeleton shiver as you stroke the sensitive bone with your warm fingertips.</p><p>“no need to apologize. we’re not going to <em>chew</em> you out. unless you ask us to.” You turn your attention to the new speaker, another skeleton. This one is only a few inches taller than yourself, with a single red eyelight. His attire is simple—a blue hoodie, black gym shorts, and…oh. He’s corrupted too. A cat-eared beanie covers the top of his skull. His expression is grumpy, but his tone is droll if not edgy. He extends a bony hand, “nice to <em>eat</em> you, name’s axe.”</p><p>“I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you,” You automatically reach out to return the gesture—a growl stops you in your tracks. You look at Wuffie expectantly, but the growling is coming from someone else.</p><p>You whirl around, coming face to face with a rib cage covered by a knitted grey sweater. You crane your neck further, to find a skeletal monster even taller than the first. Instead of a humanoid skull, this one stares down at you with what looks like a canine, almost draconic one. Bright blue eyelights shine in his sockets. His growl ceases as you make eye contact.</p><p>“damn oversized blaster ruinin’ the gag.” Axe mutters to himself in annoyance as he places the razor back in his hoodie pocket.</p><p>“A-and nice to meet you too, sir,” you reextend your arm. The gesture is not reciprocated, and your arm just awkwardly hangs there. You impulsively settle for patting the newcomer’s snout. Rather than facing the consequences of that decision you flip back around and stutter out an explanation to the first two monsters, “I’m not supposed to be here—I-I thought this was a meeting for pet lovers. Not that you all aren’t great…I just am a bit, uh, surprised. At all this,” you gesture to the debauchery proceeding around you.</p><p>“heh. don’t get your spine in a twist. you ain’t gonna offend me. this ain’t my scene. i’m just here for the free food.” Axe claims, leaving towards the buffet table as if proving his point.</p><p>“i’m into it,” the first skelly insists. You despair that you don’t know his name, but he seems to anticipate your question and adds, “you can call me mutt.”</p><p>He takes your hand in his and raises it to his mouth. Is he going to kiss it? Do skeletons kiss? Before you can ask, he opens his mouth and runs a wet, orange tongue across the back of your hand. It tingles. You squeak and pull your hand back, cradling it against your chest. “pleasure.”</p><p>“Well, Mutt, I appreciate your forthrightness. I have no qualms with what’s going on here it just…isn’t my personal preference.”</p><p>“you sure? you never thought about having a “pet”? or getting’ frisky with a nonhuman?”</p><p>You blush and bite your lip as you try to answer his question authentically as possible. By his tone you assumed he meant “pet” as a euphemism for a subset of submissive partner. One you’d train to obey you. Except the rewards and punishments could range from innocent pats and scolds to…well, less innocent things.</p><p>It didn’t cross your mind often, though now that you were thinking about it, it wasn’t…horrible. As for “fraternizing” with non-humans…you didn’t have any experience there, but you’d found plenty of monsters attractive. Mettaton, while flashy and having an insufferable personality, is a universally attractive fellow with undeniably hot legs.</p><p>You hadn’t answered aloud so Mutt continued questioning, “what about him?” he gestures behind you, at the draconic skeleton lingering over your shoulder. “don’t think he’s a little bit…cute?”</p><p>You scrutinize the monster in question. He is probably the tallest person you’ve ever seen. The broadness of his shoulders and thickness of his arm bones combine to make him look almost…buff. As buff as someone without actual muscles can look. You’d expect his size, stature, and the daggerlike teeth to intimidate you. However, he is unexpectedly expressive and his slouchy posture, open expression, and slightly tilted head looking at you in a silent curiosity is decidedly nonthreatening. Endearing, even.</p><p>“He’s a bit cute.” You admit hesitantly. His tail wags in response to your answer. You realize you know nothing about him or what’s bringing him here. Unlike Mutt, who seems to be wearing his kinks on his sleeve, and Axe who claims to be here only for the food, he is free from any fetish wear or furry accessories. “What is your name?” He looks away and scratches the side of his head with a claw-like hand. “C’mon…you’ve gotta have a name. If you don’t tell me I’m just going to call you Cutie.”</p><p>He eventually lifts his hands away from his blue-tinted snout and responds, “name’s fang.” His voice has a deep, gruff timbre that reverberates through your chest.</p><p>“Fang,” you repeat in awe. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard a voice so soothing before, and you’re about to say as much before you realize that might be coming on too strong and don’t want to embarrass him. “What brings you to a place like this?”</p><p>“…” he maintains eye contact but his shoulders curl in on themselves, shrinking deeper into his sweater.</p><p>Mutt answers for him, “fang’s got an animalistic streak. bothers some people. he blends in more in a place like this.”</p><p>“Hmm. Uh—don’t take this the wrong way, but the three of you aren’t really blending in. Not that it’s bad! In this crowd. To be honest I’m not sure if I’d be able to talk to you seriously if you were dressed like…” you trail off, looking back over your shoulder at the person you’d seen in nothing but pasties and a thong, who now seems to be enthusiastically engaging in fellatio. You avert your eyes at breakneck speed.</p><p>“we get it. skeletons scare folks off. ‘specially humans. ‘s like the song.”</p><p>“The song? You mean…‘Spooky Scary Skeletons’?”</p><p>“that’s the one.”</p><p>“I thought that song was actually about how the skeletons were misunderstood!” You pull out your phone to google the lyrics. “Yep, says ‘We’re so sorry skeletons, you’re so misunderstood. You just want to socialize,’ it also calls them silly and shy. What do you think? Accurate?” you tease, showing Mutt the lyrics. He leans over you for a moment, pondering.</p><p>“you’re right. wasn’t what i thought it was about. whoever wrote this song definitely wanted to fuck a skeleton.”</p><p>“What?! Where are you getting that fr—”</p><p>“—look, s’right there,” he points to lines in the lyrics, “’send shivers down your spine’.” Mutt runs a finger gently down the center of your back, making you shudder. “‘drive you so insane’… ‘seldom let you sleep’” his hand continues its journey down your spine and you start to think he’s going to grab your ass before he allows his arm to fall back to his side. “’s erotic.”</p><p>You exhale and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m not sure I agree with that interpretation of the song. But…I’m glad Wuffie led me to you. If she hadn’t, I’m sure I would have hightailed it out of here and spent the evening on the couch, drinking wine and feeling sorry for myself.”</p><p>He places a hand on your shoulder, exhaling a puff of smoke, “so…ya stickin’ around?”</p><p>“I will. But only because Wuffie seems to like you,” you tease. The dog in question seems stuck to Mutt’s side, nuzzling his palm.</p><p>“she has good taste.”</p><p>“who, Y/N?” Axe rejoins the conversation, with a plate full of pizza, “she looks pretty <em>tasteful</em> to me.” He chuckles, while you stare at him perplexedly. Was that an inside joke, or were you missing something? Your attention lingers on the food in his arms, stomach growling at the realization of your hunger. Axe notices, and huffs defensively, “get your own food, human.” Fang looks at him sternly and he rolls his eyes. “fine, guess if you’re stayin’ i’ll buy you a drink. but you’re still not getting’ any o’ this pizza.”</p><p>“Fair enough!” you laugh and accept his offer. You take a seat with them in the corner booth and order a beer and some fries. Wuffie hangs out by your feet, taking turns begging for food from each person at the table. The skeletons make good company as you trade quips. Fang is mostly silent, adding huffs of amusement and the occasional terse comment. To your infinite enjoyment, a couple drinks in you get a chance to share your pet-related conversation starters.</p><p>“I had the <em>purr</em>-fect icebreaker! I was going to walk up to another dog owner and say, ‘Wow! Isn’t this place <em>fetch</em>ing?’” Mutt and Fang let out a few chuckles, while Axe straightens as if issued a challenge.</p><p>“i suppos’ that one has pet-tential. but whatcha really gotta say is ‘had a ruff meow-rning at the paw-fice. barely made it out the paw-rking lot.’”</p><p>“i’ve got one,” Mutt insists, looking straight at you with half-lidded eyes (sockets?), “you must be my backyard cuz i really dig you.” You try and fail to stifle a giggle behind your hand.</p><p>“Fur that one you deserve a drink. I’m buying you a Mutt-ropolitan.” It was half for the pun, half because you think it’d be funny to see Mutt drinking out of a martini glass.</p><p>“generous paw-ffer darlin’ but i have to decline. ‘m just drinkin’ monster alcohol tonight.”</p><p>“Monster alcohol is a real thing? What’s the difference?”</p><p>“magic.” Fang states simply. You stare at them, waiting for an explanation.</p><p>Axe sighs, clarifying, “monsters are mostly made of magic. human alcohol acts on matter, which works if that’s what you’re made of, not so much fer us.”</p><p>“So would magic alcohol even work on me?”</p><p>“not sure. might work on your soul.”</p><p>“wanna find out?” Mutt pushes his glass toward you. You raise your eyebrows. Venturing into the unknown isn’t your usual behavior. Then again, none of this evening has been usual. Why break the streak now? You shrug and press the glass to your lips.</p><p>The taste is…unique. It fizzles on your tongue and warms you as it travels your throat. Like the burn of whiskey, but gentler. You can feel the energy crackling inside you like pop rocks. The flavor is citrusy. The aftertaste is pleasant and refreshing. You down another swig, making a satisfied noise as you gulp it down.</p><p>“easy there, peaches. slow down. we dunno what it’ll do t’ya yet,”</p><p>“too late,” Mutt remarks, staring mournfully into his now empty cup. “darlin’ owes me a refill.”</p><p>“you okay?” Fang’s rumbling voice is laced with concern.</p><p>“I feel…” you take a few moments to ponder what exactly it is you’re feeling. Your body feels normal, still a little buzzed from the beer. Overall your coordination and higher reasoning skills are intact. How you feel, however…</p><p>Wuffie paws at your foot and gives you wide, heart-wrenching puppy eyes. She is so precious. Too good for this world. You don’t treat her nearly as well as she deserves. She deserves all the love in the world. A floodgate of affection rushes through you as you lift her onto your lap. The affection is just as quickly overpowered by guilt as she whines, looking in the direction of your fries. All she wants is some delicious food and yet you can’t give it to her. It isn’t healthy for a dog her age. The tragedy of it weighs on you like a thousand bricks.</p><p>“I feel…so <em>much</em>!” You break down sobbing, head in your hands. “Wuffie is so wonderful I literally can’t comprehend it. Yet I can’t give her what she wants without hurting her. And I forgot to call my mom today, I’m a terrible daughter. But you guys are here listening to me and it’s so <em>sweet</em> and Mutt shared his drink with me. Generous as hell. And now you’re looking at me all worried…I’m so <em>lucky</em> for near-strangers to be concerned for my wellbeing—”</p><p>The skeletons pull their attention away from you spilling your emotional guts and look at each other.</p><p>You continue to gush, caught up in your whirlwind of emotion as Axe whispers to Mutt, “her soul’s practically spillin’ outta her chest,”</p><p>“mm. kinda hot.”</p><p>“not the time! whatta we do?”</p><p>“soul’s buzzin’ with too much magic. she’ll burn it off ‘ventually.”</p><p>“eventually? …i gotta better idea.” Axe turns back to you, where Wuffie is licking your cheek and Fang is patting your head like you’d done to him in an effort to comfort you. He interrupts your rant about how astonishing food is, “you ever been in an encounter?”</p><p>“Like an alien encounter of the third kind? I haven’t, but it sounds exciting!”</p><p>“no, like a monster encount—nevermind. easier to just show ya.”</p><p>All the light and sound from the room disappears, only leaving the form of the three skeleton monsters. You gasp as you see a green-blue heart float out of your chest and come to rest in front of you. A glowing aura of energy seems to surround it, flickering and sparking. Several text boxes enter your vision. “FIGHT”, “ACT”, “ITEM”, and “MERCY”. Buzzing with energy, your soul gravitates towards “ACT”. You have the choice to chose who to act on, and since Axe pulled you into this you choose him.</p><p>&gt;Check</p><p>&gt;Question</p><p>&gt;Flirt</p><p>*Axe is trying to help…</p><p>You pick “question”, and Axe responds, “this’s an encounter. that lil’ cyan bit there’s your soul. monsters usually use these to ‘settle disagreements’. but we’re gonna use it to help you cool off a bit. get your soul’s wiggles out. i’ll throw a few slow bone attacks. just move outta the way.”</p><p>To your infinite wonder, a long, cracked bone materializes above your soul. It soars towards it and out of sheer instinct you flinch out of its way. The bone disappears when it doesn’t hit anything.</p><p>“whoops. bit too fast. you’re ok though.”</p><p>You barely hear him, focus laser pointed on the little heart. You can control it! Almost like telekinesis. Under your command you wave it back and forth.</p><p>“Woah…” It does a loop-de-loop, then an infinity sign, then a wave, as you laugh and cheer it on.</p><p>“cute,” Fang whispers as he watches your soul do its little dance. Something in the back of your mind tells you it’s his turn.</p><p>*Fang is checking you…</p><p>*…</p><p>*he likes what he sees.</p><p>Your face flushes as you absorb this information. That could be interpreted many ways. He checked you? What do you see by checking someone? You resolve to check him back at the next opportunity.</p><p>It’s Mutt’s turn. He takes his time pondering the options. Finally, you sense something.</p><p>*Mutt is flirting with you…</p><p>*he wants you to know his favorite position is doggy style.</p><p>Oh my god. That dork! Your blush intensifies. Couldn’t he have just said that out loud, instead of ACTing? What was the difference? You remind yourself to ask him after the encounter is over.</p><p>You get the opportunity to ACT again, and you check Fang.</p><p>*FANG — ATK 90  DEF 25 HP 100/100</p><p>*glad you don’t have any LV. (and that you find him cute.)</p><p>What you see is a bit different than what you expected. It looks like stats, specifically attack and defense if your gaming lingo is correct. What you don’t know is how to interpret the number themselves. You don’t have any frame of reference for them. Is having 25 defense considered low? High? Average? Just another thing you’ll have to ask after this.</p><p>That is, if your assumptions about the acronyms are accurate. Which they might not be as it doesn’t make sense why Fang would be glad you don’t have any level. You’d always thought “leveling up” in real life is having a birthday. But in that case it’d be impossible for someone to have no LV at all.</p><p>You push your pondering to the side as Axe’s turn begins.</p><p>“i’m gonna increase the number of attacks. try to keep up.”</p><p>Sure to his word, several more bones materialize. They lunge towards your soul in sequence. The first comes from the side and you dodge upwards. You make a right, a left, a few jumps and dives until the last bone has disappeared.</p><p>The aura around your soul has dampened a bit. However, it still sparks chaotically, and you have an inkling it’s not supposed to be doing this.</p><p>“i’ll help too,” Fang murmurs, summoning bone attacks of his own. His are shaped like enormous bony claws, dwarfing the size of your soul. They approach slowly at first, but as you gain confidence maneuvering them, they gain momentum.</p><p>A beam of pride shines within you. The attacks were increasingly challenging, and you had not so much as a scratch!</p><p>You expect Mutt to join in attacking, but he ACTs again.</p><p>*Mutt is flirting with you…</p><p>*he’d like you to help him “bury his bone”.</p><p>You huff, half in amusement, half in annoyance. That was such a lame pick-up line! Yet…you find yourself reluctantly warming up to him. Is that what makes ACTing different than talking? It puts you in a sort of alternate reality where pick-up lines work?</p><p>Mutt seems to realize how it affects you as he the corner of his skeletal mouth twitches into a smirk.</p><p>You shake it off and consider your next move. You could check Mutt or Axe and get a better sense of what the normal range of stats is. Or…your soul edges curiously towards ITEM.</p><p>With disappointment you realize it’s just a list of what you’ve got in your pockets.</p><p>SUNGLASSES</p><p>PEPPER SPRAY</p><p>VELCRO WALLET</p><p>DOG TREATS</p><p>KEYRING</p><p>BEEF JERKY</p><p>Oh, jerky. You’d half-forgotten you’d brought it.</p><p>&gt;use</p><p>&gt;info</p><p>&gt;give</p><p>You select info.</p><p>*Good for emergency snacking. Has a distinct, non-licorice flavor. Someone might appreciate it.</p><p>Hm, the info is vague. You wondered who that “someone” was, but…you have an educated guess.</p><p>Shrugging, you decide to give the beef jerky to Axe. </p><p>His eye ridges raise in disbelief. “you’re just gonna give me this? that’s…heh. your loss.” He selects ITEM.</p><p>*Axe uses BEEF JERKY.</p><p>*it restores 10 HP.</p><p>*he’s grateful for the food. (not that he’d tell you.)</p><p>It’s both charming and slightly unnerving the kind of information you glean from this encounter. Is it just monsters that reveal things about themselves unintentionally or are you doing it too? You find yourself grateful that this isn’t a common occurrence. You imagine it’d be hard to keep any secrets if that were the case.</p><p>Fang presses on with another slew of bone attacks. This time, you notice patterns and repetitions in how they approach your soul. You’re self-assured as you weave your way through them with ease. You’re maybe a bit overconfident, as you start to take shortcuts in your soul’s movements. It takes just a momentary lapse of attention and one of the attacks connect, brushing against your soul.</p><p>A spike of pain shoots through your entire body. You wince, instinctively clutching your chest even though you know your soul isn’t there.</p><p>“…!” Fang immediately stops FIGHTing. He eyes you guiltily, assessing the damage.</p><p>*Fang is sparing you…</p><p>Is that how you’re supposed to end an encounter? You try to follow his example and move your slightly battered soul towards MERCY.</p><p>The bar and all your surroundings return to your vision as the light blue heart reenters your chest. You blink, disoriented.</p><p>“you alright there, darlin’?”</p><p>“I’m okay…I think,” you answer Mutt, wiping the tear tracks off your cheeks from your earlier outbursts. “My soul is less hyper. It’s sorta…fatigued now.”</p><p>A nearly imperceptible whine emanates from the monster next to you, and you turn to address its source. “Hey, no hard feelings Fang. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. Besides,” you look at your body, free from any sign of damage, “No harm done.”</p><p>“your hp dropped,” Axe corrects.</p><p>“HP? Does that stand for Hit Points?” They confirm, nodding. “Then it really is like a video game…”</p><p>He scoffs. “better not think o’ it that way. ‘less you want your lv to go up.”</p><p>“LV means…level?” you venture your guess. Shaking heads.</p><p>“’s short fer love, or level of violence. measure of how detached ya are at killing, hurting other people. not a good thing.” He takes a sip of his drink, then corrects himself with a sharp look at Mutt, “‘n most circles, at least.”</p><p>Ah. That makes more sense. Fang was just relieved you weren’t a bloodthirsty psycho when he checked your LV.</p><p>The draconic skeleton slams his fist against the table, the loud thud gaining the attention of everyone at the table. “fix her,” he demands, looking at the other two monsters.</p><p>Axe scoffs, “pfft. she said it ‘erself. she’s fine. hp’s not even that low. ‘sides, not like we could. don’t ‘ave a lick of healing magic between us.”</p><p>“m’lord could.” Mutt mutters thoughtfully, resting his head against his arms on the table.</p><p>“don’t tell me yer gonna call the tiny tyrant down here just ‘cause the blaster feels guilty.”</p><p>“mm. might.”</p><p>“ridiculous. next yer gonna bring vanilla ‘n the ‘ole cavalry down over a papercut.”</p><p>“Who’s m’lord?” you cut in as Mutt exits the table, presumably to make a phone call.</p><p>“the mutt’s brother. real piece o’ work.”</p><p>“Oh. I…may have assumed you three were brothers.”</p><p>“lil racist there, don’cha think?”</p><p>You back pedal, embarrassed, “You’re right, I shouldn’t have assumed. You could have been friends, or perfect strangers! It’s not like you even look that much like each other. Besides the whole skeleton thing. I’m sorr—”</p><p>“woah there. jus’ pullin’ yer chain. we are related. cousins.” You roll your eyes.</p><p>“Alright, then who’s Vanilla? A girlfriend?”</p><p>Axe nearly spits out his drink. “heh. heheh. not a chance in hell. he’s another cousin. real headache, too.” He pauses. “you might like him. he could answer all your little questions. bore ya to death explainin’ encounters n’ all that shit.”</p><p>Vanilla was a guy’s name? Huh. You guess that’s not any stranger than names like ‘Mutt’ and ‘Axe’. Better not to question monster naming customs.</p><p>A beat of silence passes. Axe runs his eyelight over your form appraisingly. “thought ya’d have run off after that shit with tha’ monster alcohol. not like you gotta bravery soul, ‘r anythin.” You nod.</p><p>“It was overwhelming. I will not be trying it again anytime soon. But…getting all those feelings out…it was cathartic.” You scratch the back of your head. “Plus, you guys stuck with me through it. I’m grateful.”</p><p>He looks like he’s about to say something when Mutt slinks back to the table. “m’lord’s en route.”</p><p>“your funeral.”</p><p>A curiosity that’s been building in the back of your mind all evening manages to wiggle its way out your lips.</p><p>“Mutt, you say you’re into all this, right?” you gesture to the carnal festivities carrying on around you.</p><p>“mhm,” his attention perks up.</p><p>“I get why someone would be into having a… “pet”. You get to have unquestioned control and someone catering to your whims. What I don’t get is what the other person gets out of it. They just have to get bossed around and be obedient.”</p><p>“s only half of it. a good master or mistress takes good care of ya. needs. care. protection. ‘sides…” he grabs your forearm, pulling you forward to whisper in your ear, “who says we’ve got ta be obedient?” You feel the wet warmth of his tongue on the sensitive shell of your ear for a split second before he pulls back, leaving you to slump back into your seat, flustered.</p><p>Luckily Axe spaced out the second you’d brought up anything kinky, missing the exchange entirely. Fang, however, watched you with an indecipherable expression. Clearing your throat, you steer the conversation back to safe topics.</p><p>“What do you guys do for work?”</p><p>“this n’ that.” Mutt answers noncommittally.</p><p>“…” Fang just shakes his head.</p><p>“butcher.” Axe responds. The sound of Mutt’s phone going off distracts you from the eerily manic grin on his face as he thinks about his profession.</p><p>Mutt answers, holding the phone an inch away from his skull. A voice from the other line booms, “I’M OUTSIDE. THERE IS NO WAY IN HELL I’M ENTERING THIS DECREPID DEN OF DEBAUCHERY. MEET ME IN THE ALLEYWAY. BRING THE HUMAN. AND HURRY SO YOU DON’T WASTE ANY MORE OF MY PRECIOUS TIME!” The end tone signals the caller hung up before he had a chance to reply.</p><p>“well. you heard ‘im.”</p><p>Unperturbed, Mutt rises from the table, pulling you up with him and leading you towards the door briskly. You turn to see Wuffie trailing behind you and the two other skeletons sticking to the table, watching you leave with expressions that seems to say, ‘<em>good luck. You’re going to need it.’</em></p><p>Harsh sunlight strains your eyes as you exit the bar. The air in Ebott city isn’t what anyone could call “fresh”, but being outdoors in the open space after the crowded, dark bar is invigorating. Once you make it to the alleyway your eyes have adjusted just enough to make out a dark outline against the brick.</p><p>M’lord is a skeleton monster as you’d assumed, but that was where the brothers’ similarity ended. His attire and posture are formal. A black military-style jacket is highlighted with a red ascot. A fanged sneer decorates his face and he excudes an authoritative aura that is both unnerving and impressive.</p><p>His voice is the polar opposite of Mutt’s. Where the lazy taller monster speaks with minimal effort, slurring and half-pronouncing words out of sheer lingual laziness, m’lord enunciates every word clearly and with enthusiastic emphasis. “Human. You Have The Honor Of Being In The Presence Of The Malevolent Black! Bow!”</p><p>You’d doubt his seriousness, but he extends the back of his hand as if he expects you to kiss it. Why would hand kissing be a part of skeleton culture? You still don’t know if they can kiss without lips. Mutt acted like the way he licked your hand was perfectly normal. Maybe it is to skeletons? Leaping to that conclusion, you bend down until your face hovers over Black’s extended hand. You inhale and run your tongue from his carpals to the base of his radius. He tingles against your taste buds like the monster alcohol, with a hint of cinnamon.</p><p>You’re unable to withhold your laughter as Black reacts the same way you did, instantly withdrawing his hand and cradling it against his chest. He looks at you as if you’d burned him.</p><p>“MUTT! This Human Displays The Same Disgusting Behavior As Yourself! She Has Been Corrupted By Your Depravity!</p><p>“seems so, m’lord.” He winks at you.</p><p>“Restrain The Human! There Will Be No More <em>Licking</em> While I Heal Its Pathetic Soul.”</p><p>“yes, m’lord.” One moment Mutt is in front of you, slouched besides his brother, the next he is gone. A long skeletal arm pins your arms to your body and holds you tight against Mutt’s ribcage.</p><p>“This really isn’t neces—” His other arm comes up to cover your mouth, a pair of phalanges slipping inside to keep your tongue in place. “…!” You make a noise of complaint in your throat.</p><p>Despite the restriction to your movements, you are surprisingly comfortable. Physically, at least. Mutt’s grip is secure but not so tight as to cause harm. Emotionally, you were beleaguered by Black’s demanding personality. Axe wasn’t exaggerating when he called him a piece of work. And Mutt seems to have no spine against Black, enabling his antics unconditionally. Their dynamic was…concerning.</p><p>Paying no mind to your furrowed brows, Black leans toward you, red eyelights laser-focused on the spot in your chest where you saw your soul exit and return. He seems to come to a conclusion as he blinks and straightens.</p><p>“Human…You Are Truly Pitiful To Have Sustained Such Injury From An Accidental Attack. Fortunately For You, It Is Insignificant To The Mighty Magic Of The Malevolent Black! Prepare For Healing!”</p><p>His phalanges press into your chest above your soul, his palms coming to rest against the tops of your breasts. Before your cheeks can even color at the contact, your awareness is washed away by the sheer bliss flowing into your upper body. The healing magic feels incredible, calming and comforting every part of you as it builds. Your muscles lose all tension and you slump against Mutt, his grip the only thing keeping you upright. You moan against his hand. Your body feels as sluggish as after running a marathon, except without any soreness or pain. The very idea of pain feels foreign to you now as the magic relaxes you infinitely. Your eyelids slip shut, head lolling as you nod off into the best sleep of your life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>After reading dozens and dozens of wonderful sans/reader fics with all the multiverse boys I had no choice but to make my own contribution! I'll take some artistic liberties with some of the AUs. I'm hoping to start off light heartened and eventually build to some darker shit. Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“feels weird seeing a human in my bed. one i haven’t boned, at least.”</p><p>“Ugh. Keep Thoughts About Your Escapades To Yourself, Mutt. This Was The Only Option. If She Was On The Couch The Others Might See Her And Ask Questions. If We Put Her On My Bed…” Black’s face twists in revulsion, “We Don’t Know Where She’s Been! And Look, Her Mouth Is <em>Leaking</em>! It Is Better She Is In The Place That She Can’t Mess Up Because It’s Already Filthy.”</p><p>“you really put that issue to bed, m’lord.”</p><p>“Of Course, The Malevolent Bla—Was…Was That Wordplay? Pathetic! Yet Another Reason The Beast Is Superior.” Black frames Wuffie’s face with his phalanges, scratching under her ears. “This Honorable Creature Would Never Debase Itself With Such Frivolous Punning. Would You? You Are Much More Useful Than Mutt, Aren’t You? Go On, Wake Up Your Human.”</p><p>Black releases Wuffie’s leash, allowing her to leap up to you on the bed. A flurry of doggy kisses on your forehead causes you to stir in your sleep, half-consciously swatting her snout away from your face.</p><p>You draw in a deep breath through your nose. Smoke from a burning stick of incense hangs heavily in the air and poorly conceals the musk of weed and barbeque saturated in the sheets. The deluge of smells assaults your senses and send you into a coughing fit, sitting up on the bed. </p><p>Your throat settles down and you wipe the drool from your cheek and the sleep from your eyes. Blinking, you realize you have an audience.</p><p>“Where am I? What happened?” you ask hoarsely.</p><p>“My Healing Magic Overwhelmed Your Soul. You Passed Out. We Were Unable To Wake You, So We Brought You To Our Dwelling To Recover.”</p><p>“Wow. Uh, thank you, I guess?” You eye Mutt, slouched in a ragged office chair next to an incredibly cluttered desk, swiveled to face you. His brother is standing bedside, his hands on his hipbones watching you intently. This is an uncomfortable situation to be in.  Somehow, even the bar full of rowdy, lewd, barely dressed people was more welcoming than this oppressive atmosphere. “Well, this has been fun but I’m going to leave.”</p><p>With a bit of effort you push yourself off the lumpy mattress. Taking hold of Wuffie’s leash, you move for the door.</p><p>“Aren’t You Forgetting Something?” Forgetting something…? You search your pockets. Wallet, check. Keys, check. Phone, check. Wait! Phone… you should get their numbers. It wasn’t often that you met such interesting company, after all. “Oh yeah! Thanks for reminding me!” You open your contacts screen and create a new one, holding it out for Black to complete. “You should both give me your numbers and I’ll text you.”</p><p>Black stares accusingly at the offered phone. “You…You…Hmph, Fine!” He snatches it from your grasp and aggressively punches in his contact information. Any more force and he would crack the screen. “It Is Only Natural For Pathetic Humans Like You To Seek Out Connections With Distinguished Monsters Such As Myself. I Will Indulge You Just This Once.” He finishes putting in his information and tosses the phone for Mutt to do the same. As soon as his hands are free, he points one of them in your face. “However! Such Trivial Social Pleasantries Are NOT What You Are Forgetting!”</p><p>Black revels in your confusion for a moment before continuing. “Our Business Is Not Yet Complete! I, The Malevolent Black, Provided You With Healing. You, A Lowly Human, Have Offered Me Nothing But Empty Words Of ‘Thanks’. This Is Unacceptable.”</p><p><br/>“Oh.” Your gaze rests pleadingly on Mutt for a moment, hoping for him to step in to defend you, or at least clarify the situation. After all, he was the one who requested Black’s healing, not you. Mutt just stares blankly, looking half asleep. So much for his help, then. “I didn’t know you expected to be compensated. I sort of thought…you were doing it out of the goodness of your heart?” The pitch of your voice raises towards the end of your sentence as you barely believe what you’re saying.</p><p>“The Goodness Of My—Human. Your Lack Of Judgement And Memory Retention Is Almost Laughable. Did I Not Introduce Myself As ‘The Malevolent Black’? Not ‘The Benevolent Black Who Allows Humans To Walk All Over Him Out Of The Goodness Of His Heart’?!”</p><p>“it was the first one, m’lord.”</p><p>“Even My Hopeless Brother Remembers! You Would Do Well To Remember It As Well, Human. Now Let Us Discuss Reimbursement.”</p><p>Sighing, you pull out your wallet. “I don’t have that much cash on me…but is twenty bucks enough?”</p><p>“You Are Speaking To A Very Wealthy And Prestigious Monster. Twenty Dollars Is Not Nearly Enough To Pay For My Time!”</p><p>You chew on your lip. You weren’t sure you liked where this was going. “I guess…I could give you a massage instead? I’m a licensed massage therapist and, not to brag, but I’m pretty good. Never tried it on a skeleton monster before though…”</p><p>Black scoffs, crossing his arms. “And Let An Untrustworthy Human Put Its Squishy Hands All Over Me? I Don’t Think So.”</p><p>“Then I’m fresh out of ideas.” You run a hand through your hair and shake your head.</p><p>“I Will Spare You From Any Additional Feeble Attempts At Bartering. In Exchange For My Use Of Healing Magic, You Will Give Me Your Beast.”</p><p>“Wuffie?!” you ask incredulously.</p><p>“Yes, The Beast You Refer To As ‘Wuffie’,” Black scowls at the pet name. “The Creature Has Proven Its Usefulness To Me While You Recovered. Allow Me To Demonstrate.” He pulls the leash from your grip and detaches it from the collar. “Beast, Bring Me My Useless Brother!”</p><p>Black emphasizes the command by pointing a sharp phalange at Mutt across the room. Eager to please, Wuffie bounds into action and seizes Mutt by the femur like their first meeting, pulling him towards the room’s other occupants. Mutt reacts to this passively, gripping the armrests and allowing Wuffie to drag him with the rolling chair until he’s about a foot away from his brother. Wuffie releases his leg bone and looks to Black for approval. The skeleton in question summons a small bone seemingly from nothing and offers it to the happy collie to be chewed on.</p><p>“With Proper Training, And A More Fitting Name, This Beast Could Be A Valuable Asset To Me. Whatever Purposes You Put The Creature To Are Clearly A Waste Of Its Potential. You Should Be Grateful I Am Willing To Remedy This While Forgiving Your Debt To Me.”</p><p>“Grateful?” You would’ve laughed at Black’s arrogance if you weren’t so upset at the idea of parting with your beloved dog. “Wuffie is part of my family! I love her! I’m not going to give her to you just because you took five minutes out of your day to heal an injury that wasn’t even that serious in the first place!”</p><p>Black’s menacing eye sockets narrow at your refusal. “You Fail To See What Choice You Have. Which Is To Accept That The Beast Is Better Staying With Me, Or Risk Your Wellbeing By Challenging Me In Combat. Which I Do Not Advise If You Have Any Attachment To Continuing Your Miserable Human Existence.”</p><p>A low whine fills the room as Wuffie reacts negatively to the escalating tension. Breaking eye contact, Black turns to the dog, his expression softening ever so slightly. It was kind of charming, you’d admit. The affection that Black had for your pet. Maybe it was because he was such an ornery person who you’d never expect to speak highly of anyone but himself. Yet, he clearly thought highly of Wuffie and complimented her ‘potential’. Perhaps there was a way to compromise…</p><p>“I don’t want to fight you. But I also can’t simply abandon Wuffie. What if…you could visit her? Come by and train her, borrow her for an afternoon a couple times a week? Like joint custody. But I’m not going to leave her alone with you until I know I can trust you, so don’t get any funny ideas.”</p><p>“You Insult Me. I Have Never Entertained Any Of What You Call ‘Funny Ideas’. Preposterous. However, Your Offer Of Joint Custody Is…Acceptable. If You Are Truly Foolish Enough To Retain The Financial Burden Of The Beast While Allowing Me To Make Full Use Of Its Abilities, I Accept.”</p><p>Relief floods through you and the tension in your shoulders relaxes. Your lips curl into a small smile. “Good. I’m glad we could settle this peacefully. I’ll text you to work out a visitation schedule. It was…nice talking to you be I think I’ll be heading out now.”  You turn to the door, opening it a few inches before it’s slammed shut by Black, bracing a surprisingly strong skeletal arm against the door.</p><p>“Halt, Human! Before You Leave, I Must Warn You. If You Attempt To Back Out Of Our Deal In Any Way, There Will Be Consequences. I Expect To Hear From You Before The End Of The Week.” You don’t like his scolding tone, but his arm drops and you open the door to what appears to be a decked out game room. “Mutt, Escort The Human And The Beast To Their Dwelling.”</p><p>“yes, m’lord.”</p><p>Mutt rises from the office chair and begins leading you out. You pass a pool table, an entertainment center with an impressive number of video game consoles, and a lone sock by the couch. While not exactly clean, the air here is much more pleasant and you breath easy. As you ascend the staircase to the main level you spot a familiar figure.</p><p>“Fang!” His skull swivels in the direction of your voice and his bony features light up with relief at the sight of you.</p><p>Fang covers the distance between you in a few lengthy strides and looks at you appraisingly. “you ok?”</p><p>“I’m groggy and have bedhead from my unplanned nap, but besides that I’m golden. Do you live here too?” He nods. “It’s cool that you can get along that well with your family. If I lived with my cousins it’d be a constant warzone. Hey, before I forget, can you give me your number? I’d like to hang out again sometime.” Fang hesitates a moment before gingerly plucking your phone from your hand.</p><p>“your background…”</p><p>“Lovely, isn’t it? It’s from the Sylvan Ravine National Forest.”</p><p>“been there.”</p><p>“Really? That’s impressive, most of the hikes there are super steep. None of my friends ever want to go there with me. I’ve only ever driven through.”</p><p>“…we could—”</p><p>Mutt makes a noise akin to clearing his throat, and you remember he’s waiting to take you home. Under Black’s command, no less. He’s probably eager to get it over with.</p><p>“I’ll talk to you later, Fang.” You smile apologetically and give him a small wave before turning around and following Mutt into their garage.</p><p>The lights flick on automatically as you enter. The space is immaculate compared to the lived-in messiness of the rest of the house. There is no claustrophobic amount of storage clogging up the space, only a simple streamlined workstation and some <em>ridiculously</em> expensive looking vehicles. You don’t know much about cars, especially the luxury ones, but three out of the four you see look like they belong on a racetrack. The fourth one is more utilitarian looking, not a junker, but less flashy than the others.</p><p>You suddenly become more aware of you and Wuffie’s body and movements. A scratch on one of these cars would be an extremely expensive mistake. You carefully follow Mutt passed the red Mustang, holding Wuffie’s leash short and close to your body.</p><p>“Which one is yours?”</p><p>“none of ‘em. we’ll borrow m’lord’s car.” He produces a key from his jacket pocket and unlocks the sleek, black vehicle with tinted windows. You climb into the back seat so you can be next to Wuffie without being cramped. “address?”</p><p>You give him your address, which he plugs into the GPS system built into the dash. The garage door opens. As you pull out into the driveway, you realize the sun has already gone down. You check the time on your phone and notice it’s late but not after midnight. Thank goodness. It would have been embarrassing to have overstayed that long.</p><p>Wuffie removes her head from your lap to explore the new scents in the car. As she moves about you notice she leaves a trail of white and grey fur which is painfully obvious against the black leather interior. Hopefully Black doesn’t get too upset with Wuffie for shedding. But, you wonder if it’d even occurred to him that it would be a side effect of dog ownership. Afterall, it would be easy for him to forget because skeletons don’t shed. They don’t have hair to shed, or skin to leave any dust behind. How lucky. It must be way easier to keep your vehicle and house clean if you don’t have to vacuum and dust as often.</p><p>Wait…you remember reading that monsters turn into dust when they die. Does it weird them out that humans have to regularly clean dust out of their house? You try to imagine what it would be like if these skeleton monsters had to regularly clean up blood that accumulated naturally on top of their bookshelves and cabinets. You shiver. Definitely creepy. Maybe you’ll ask Black about it once you were sure the question wasn’t offensive.</p><p>Oh. That’s right, you had a question for Mutt, didn’t you?</p><p>“Hey, Mutt?” you ask tentatively, grateful you had something to break the silence.</p><p>“mm?”</p><p>“What’s the difference between someone flirting in real life and someone choosing the ‘flirt’ option in an encounter?”</p><p>His stoically bored expression melts into vague amusement. “’fraid to break it to ya, but encounters are ‘real life’ too. i know what ya mean though. ‘ts like…” Mutt pauses to think and take a hit off his dog treat. “right now i’m talkin through sound waves that ‘re hittin your eardrums. then your mushy brain more ‘r less gets what i’m sayin. in encounters ya skip all that. its soul to soul communication. no language barriers. no nonsense.”</p><p>“Does that mean it’s impossible to lie in an encounter?”</p><p>“no. thank fuck,” he mumbles the last part to himself, letting out a huff of smoke. “you can lie. your soul jus’ has ta have enough intent to lie.”</p><p>“Hm. Still, that sounds incredibly useful. Why don’t we use encounters all the time instead of regular talking?”</p><p>“remember what you could see when you ‘checked’ fang?” You nod. “that information can’t be faked. it can be misleadin, but ya can’t lie your way out of it. sometimes you’ll see somethin’ that a monster won’t want you to see. pullin’ someone into an encounter without askin’ first…’s rude at best. hostile at worst.”</p><p>“So there’s an element of trust involved. Or…more like a risk you have to take. Makes sense.” The idea that at least some of Mutt’s flirting was coming from his <em>soul’s intent</em>, rather than bullshit words made it seem way more intimate. You’re glad that you’re in the backseat and Mutt can’t see the blush heating your face. It’s silly to be flattered by it. You’re sure Mutt is the kind of guy who flirts with everybody.</p><p>You stare out the window at the city lights rushing by. A few of the shopfronts are recognizable and you realize you’re only a few blocks away from home now.</p><p>Mutt parks on the side of your street. “this it?”</p><p>“Yup. Thanks for the ride!”</p><p>“i’ll walk ya in.” he parks and gets out, following you up the stairs of your apartment building. You were finally well-off enough to afford your own apartment. It would take awhile before you could afford a house with a nice big yard for Wuffie, but for now you were satisfied with having a place of your own that allowed pets.</p><p>You stop in front of you door, number 243, and grab your keys from your pocket. You turn to say goodbye to Mutt but find his expression has turned grave.</p><p>“don’t fuck with my brother,” he warns, taking a step toward you, backing you up against the door. “if you think he’s not serious about that deal, you’re dead wrong. and if he’s serious about it, then i’m serious about it. so don’t fuck it up.”</p><p>“What the hell man? There’s no need for you and Black to be so paranoid. Is it so crazy to think that I’m going to do what I said I was going to do, without being threatening a bunch of times?”</p><p>“…” judging by Mutt’s sour expression, you get the sense you hit the nail on the head. Just your luck to end up making a deal with a bunch of aggressive skeletons with trust issues. At least Fang and Axe seem normal.</p><p>“Look, I don’t know what I’ve done or what’s happened that caused you to be so distrustful of me, but I plan on following through with my commitment. And I’ll be a lot happier about doing so if I don’t keep getting threatened and talked down to about it. Understood?”</p><p>“…understood.” Mutt’s expression returns to neutrality, though he’s still menacing by default, with his twin golden fangs. “one more thing.”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“ya look’d pawfully fetching on my bed, darlin’. come back again sometime?”</p><p>“Oh my god. Goodbye, Mutt!” you retreat into your apartment, slamming the door in the flirty skeleton’s face. You lay a hand over your chest, feeling your racing heart.</p><p>Maybe you’d end your night with a nice, relaxing glass of wine. Yes. You earned it, after all that. You reach into your cupboard and pull out a bottle of white wine.</p><p>As you settle into your couch, dog in lap, glass in hand, TV playing a silly romcom, you find your mind keeps wandering to those pesky skeleton monsters. Sighing, you pull out your phone and decide you’d text them and get it over with.</p><p>Black entered his full name in your contact info as “Black the Malevolent”. Either he’s too suspicious of you to give you his real full name, or he actually made his last name “Malevolent”. You type out a text asking him about that, then delete it when you realize it’s too late in the night to be asking potentially aggravating questions. Instead, you send him a simple, “Hello, this is Y/N. Wuffie and I made it home safe.” With an attached image of your collie looking especially precious, curled up asleep across the couch.</p><p>Fang left the last name section completely blank. Luckily, you didn’t have anyone else in your contacts with that name to mix him up with. “Hey, this is Y/N. Sorry our conversation got interrupted earlier. What were you going to say?” you type, but your thumb hesitates over the send button. Would that put him on the spot? He might not remember what he was going to say. It was at least twenty minutes ago. You shrug, sending it anyway.</p><p>You scroll down to the “M” section but don’t see Mutt’s contact. Did he not want you to have his number? Your search is interrupted as you get a series of notifications.</p><p>Fang: hey y/n</p><p>Fang: i was going to say we could go together</p><p>Fang: to sylvan ravine, i mean.</p><p>Fang: it’s safer to go as a group</p><p>You smile. Not only did he remember, but what he was going to say was really sweet. And he was very right about safety. Most urban legends about popular hiking and camping spots were complete bunk, but Sylvan Ravine had a history of accidents. Several rock-climbers have died, hikers have gotten lost, and campsites flooded away. In this case it wasn’t about how supposedly haunted it was. The geography and weather patterns of the national forest made it undeniably dangerous to travel alone.</p><p>You: I’d love to! Let’s pick a weekend where the weather is good, and hike Petrovern Peak.</p><p>To you, Fang seemed like the perfect hiking buddy. He was a monster of few words, so there would be no pressure to talk while enjoying nature. You weren’t sure how much size was an indicator of strength when you have no muscles, but your best guess is that Fang is a strong and capable fellow who is apt to handle any obstacles Sylvan Ravine could throw your way. You two end up choosing a day several weeks away, yet you are excited regardless.</p><p>Another notification pops up on your phone, this time from Black.</p><p>Black: I Am Pleased That My Brother Did Not Fail The Simple Task Of Delivering You To Your Dwelling. However, That Image Was Entirely Unnecessary.</p><p>Black: Now That I Have Your Contact Information, We Can Discuss Our Business. I Desire To “Borrow” The Beast On This Wednesday From 2:30 to 5:30. Is This Acceptable?</p><p>You: I thought you might like to have a picture of Wuffie. She is very cute, after all. Yes, Wednesday is acceptable. Where should I meet you?</p><p>Black: Human. Do Not Misunderstand Me. “Cuteness” Is Not My Motivation For Acquiring The Creature.</p><p>Black: Meet Me At The Ebott Training Center.</p><p>Black: DO NOT BE LATE!!!</p><p>You: Yes, m’lord.</p><p>You add a smirking emoji to the end of your text, so your sarcasm isn’t lost on him. You set your phone on the table to mark the newly planned events on your calendar. It looks like it will be a busy week. You’re about to go brush your teeth and get ready for bed but the sound of your phone vibrating against the table halts you. <em>I hope it’s not Black getting upset over my snide use of emoticons</em>.</p><p>horn dog: texting my brother and not me?</p><p>horn dog: cruel</p><p>You: I wasn’t expecting you to use a different name in my contacts</p><p>You: It is accurate, tho</p><p>horn dog: woof</p><p>Was that an eggplant emoji? You laugh, shaking your head. He really was too much.</p><p>You: I’m at maximum capacity of skeleton shenanigans today</p><p>You: You’re going to have to come back later</p><p>You: Goodnight, Mutt</p><p>horn dog: g’night</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lazy ending, I know. But we got another chapter!<br/>Seems like Black bonded with Wuffie while you were unconscious. Sharing custody of a dog...that's kind of romantic, right? lol<br/>Smooth reader gets the number of three skelly boys ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Ebott Training Center stands before you. By name alone, you were expecting a quaint little obedience training center Black had taken the time to pick out for Wuffie.</p><p>You were very, very mistaken.</p><p>This place is a full-on military facility for the most prestigious of monster endeavors, The Royal Guard. Everywhere you look, there is another obstacle course, trap, or puzzle. One of them has a flaming hoop. Others, barbed wire. The place is bustling with serious-looking monsters hard at work. What exactly was Black hoping to achieve, bringing Wuffie to a place like this? You doubted dogs were even allowed.</p><p>Though, even as you think that, you spot a fluffy white dog precariously standing on top of a rock-climbing wall. How did he get up there?! You blink, and he’s gone. The floor beneath the wall is free from any fallen dogs, you notice with relief. Huh. Maybe you imagined it.</p><p>A bit lost, you approach the front desk where a friendly-looking lizard monster is smiling at you. “Hello, I’m here to meet Black?”</p><p>“Y/N, correct? We’re expecting you. Please go to training room C.”</p><p>“Thanks,” you follow his directions down a hallway to your left. A red door opens into a room is filled with hurdles and treadmills. A 100-meter track is built around its perimeter. Looking both ways before you cross it, you catch sight of Black a short distance away.</p><p>His crimson sights lock onto you and he snaps, “FINALLY. Bring Me The Beast So I May Resume Training.”</p><p>“Good to see you too, Black.” The stern skeleton is not alone, his lanky brother lurks beside him. This is the first time you’ve seen Mutt not smoking something. The serious nature of the building’s purpose must prohibit any smoke or unhealthy environmental hazards. His hands seem twitchier and aimless in the absence of a dog treat or cigarette. You nod at him in greeting, “And you, Mutt. Are you missing work for this?” A part of you is undeniably concerned that overbearing Black dragged his brother away from something important for this dog training business. If that was the case, you’d rather not be complicit.</p><p>Black notices your concern and dismisses it disdainfully, “Your Apprehension Is Absurd And Misplaced. We Are Not ‘Inconveniencing’ My Brother. If It Weren’t For Me, Mutt Would Still Be Wasting His Potential At A Dead-End Sentry Position. Or Worse, Sleeping All Day! Under My Guidance He Has A Career Which Allows Him To Contribute To Civilization And Dictate His Own Hours. He Is Not Missing Anything.”</p><p>“Oh. Good.” The barest hint of pride in Black’s tone has you stumped. Even though he takes credit for Mutt’s accomplishments, he seems genuinely gratified by his brother’s success. Good to know Black has a heart for more than just Wuffie.</p><p>“I’ll let you get to it, then. Be nice to your new friend,” you encourage the collie, ruffling the fur around her neck. “That goes for you too, m’lord.” Your eyebrows raise, emphasizing with a teasing smile.</p><p>An indignant huff escapes Black as he snatches the leash from your grip and storms off. You miss the smattering of red on his cheekbones before he turns away from you. For a while you closely observe Wuffie’s training. Black runs her through a variety of courses, testing her athletic ability. Once you’re sure its harmless (Wuffie seems to be having the time of her life), you retreat to a nearby bench within eyesight. Mutt has already taken up residence here, staring blankly in the general direction of his brother.</p><p>“Aren’t you bored?” you inquire, taking a seat next to him. It seems odd for him to accompany Black, only to be on standby. He shrugs noncommittally. “Suit yourself.” Having anticipated the need to entertain yourself, you pull out a book and pick up where you left off, halfway through. It passes the time. Once you reach a particularly dry chapter, your interest returns to the monster next to you.</p><p>“What is this job of yours, where you choose your own hours?”</p><p>“computers.” Mutt replies half-assedly.</p><p>“Computers.” You deadpan. “There are a lot of jobs involving computers. Do you work with software, hardware, development…?”</p><p>Realizing you weren’t going to let him off the hook, he resignedly slides his attention towards you. “cybersecurity. companies pay me t’ hack their shit. call it vulnerability analysis n penetration testing.” A sharp phalange comes up to scratch the side of his jaw. “so if ya want to test some penetration, i’m yer skeleton.”</p><p>Flustered, you laugh, “I’ll keep that in mind. That actually sounds cool. Your job, I mean! Not the…other stuff.” You clear your throat and shake your head. “The book I brought with me today is about computers. Artificial intelligence. I’m not very knowledgeable about the subject but it’s interesting to think about. In the near future we might be living with hyper-intelligent computers in robot bodies.”</p><p>“know a guy like that. not all that impressive. just a ghost monster possessing a machine. and nappstaton’s not very intelligent.”</p><p>“Really? Wow. I guess if the intelligence is from a ghost it doesn’t count. It’s the same kind of intelligence we’re used to, just in a different body. For it to be AI, it must be something completely new. Ghosts aren’t very “artificial”. This book was written before monsters surfaced and before we knew anything about this, but do you think if we developed an AI with self-awareness and theory of mind, it would have a soul?”</p><p>Mutt head tilts as he ponders. “seems like creatin’ somethin like that would hafta create a soul in the process.”</p><p>“But is that something that’s possible? Can we create a soul?”</p><p>He raises his brow ridges and the edge of his mouth perks up. “sure. wan’ me ta show ya how?”</p><p>“Show me—oh. Right, sorry.” Embarassed, you remember that souls are created in reproduction. Directly, for monsters, indirectly, for humans. “If you don’t mind…I actually do have some questions about monster reproduction that I’d rather not have in my search history.”</p><p>“as a cybersecurity expert, i can confirm. step one of stayin safe: don’t go lookin up monster porn on sketchy websites. i’ll help ya.”</p><p>“Hah, I figured. Thanks. Is it true that any two adult monsters can reproduce?”</p><p>“nah. we don’t need all tha bits and pieces that humans do, but our souls have to be compatible to make lil pup souls.”</p><p>“Compatible…” you repeat, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.</p><p>“ya know. compatible. souls hafta like each other. like each other ‘n a certain way.”</p><p>“So is the process all that different than human sex?”</p><p>“made ya curious, huh? lemme explain it this way. human reproduction goes like this.” Mutt makes a circle with his thumb and forefinger, then moves his pointer distal from his other hand in and out of it. You snort, shooting him a longsuffering look. “monster reproduction is like this.” His phalanges from each hand wiggle and move towards each other, eventually interlocking.</p><p>“Umm, tentacles?” you ask incredulously, not sure if you’d understood the demonstration.</p><p>Mutt shakes his head, smirking. “no. i mean, not unless ya ask nicely. its more about…energies. wavelengths. magic and intention. ‘s complicated.”</p><p>“Does all monster sex lead to soul creation, then?”</p><p>“nah. only if both souls have the intent to, durin’ the act.”</p><p>“Must be nice,” you sigh, lamenting the human need for birth control and all its complications.</p><p>“whadda ya say, then? want me to put another skeleton inside ya?”</p><p>“You’re not serious, are you? Do you actually want to have sex with me?”</p><p>He looks puzzled by your question. “’m interested. ya didn’t notice?”</p><p>“I noticed, it’s just that some people flirt as joke. Or just for fun.” You defend your line of thinking, staring at the floor. “I’m interested, too. It’s just that…umm…”</p><p>“’m a monster?”</p><p>“No! No. That’s not it. It’s not your appearance, I, well, like your appearance. You’re attractive. It’s…” you chew your lip, wringing your hands in your lap. It’s difficult for you to open up about this topic at times. You were raised in an environment where it was considered shameful. Inhaling deeply, you resolve to spit it out. “I don’t want to have sex with someone I don’t know. It’s not a moral judgement, or anything! I don’t think hooking up is wrong! Only, for me, sex is way more desirable with someone I’m in a relationship with. Or a friend that I trust. Does that make sense?”</p><p>“…” the look on Mutt’s face makes you think it doesn’t.</p><p>Hands raise up defensively in front of you. “You don’t have to date me, or anything, if you’re not interested in commitment. And I certainly don’t want you to befriend me just so that you can get into my pants. It’s just that…I’d like to get to know you better. Become friends and see what happens?” His face is unreadable, and not knowing what he’s thinking causes you to rant restlessly. “It’s lame, I know. I’m sorry.”</p><p>Your eyelids squeeze shut and you hold your temple in your palm. A bony hand tugs your arm away from your head, pulling your attention back to him. “’s not lame. ‘s…i’ll try it. being friends.” His timbre is calming in its sincerity. Mutt places your arm back by your side and gives the back of your hand a pat before relinquishing it. The earnest hesitation in the gesture makes you feel that he’s just as unsure in this situation as you are. It fills you with PATIENCE.</p><p>Nodding, your heartbeat returns to its resting pace. “Friends.”</p><p>“Here,” you offer, scooting closer to him and placing your book on top of your nearly touching legs. “Let’s read together.”</p><p>At this distance you could smell the smokiness of his clothing and feel the warmth emanating from his bones. You’d nonverbally communicate when you were ready to turn the page. A pattern was formed in an easy silence between you.</p><p>In one chapter you find a particularly thought-provoking and quotable paragraph. Turning to face Mutt and discuss it with him, you realize how close you are. Your noses would’ve bumped into each other, if he’d had a nose. Wordless, your eyes meet, and you smile. His expression seems to soften.</p><p>The moment is broken as Black shouts at you from across the room.</p><p>“Human! The Beast Is Malfunctioning. It Is No Longer Responding To Rewards.” Begrudgingly, you raise yourself off the bench and towards the stubborn skeleton.</p><p>The collie in question is laying placidly at Black’s feet, looking between you contentedly. A few small bones lay about her, nibbled on and abandoned. She must be full. Or tired of the taste. She was a surprisingly finicky eater, for a dog.</p><p>“First of all, Wuffie is a ‘she’ not an ‘it’. Secondly—”</p><p>“That Is An Unnecessary Observation. The Beast Is Incapable Of Understanding Language. What Does It Matter What I Call It?”</p><p>“She might not be able to understand the implications, but you do! Calling someone an ‘it’ is—” you were about to say dehumanizing, but that didn’t seem like quite the term to use when talking about a dog to a monster. “it’s like you think of them as an object, instead of their own being with their own thoughts and feelings. I hope that you don’t think of Wuffie as an object that you can just treat however you want.” Your brows furrow and you give him what you hope is an intimidating, stern dog-mom glare. “If that is the case, then we’ll have to reconsider this deal.”</p><p>Black scoffs, “Spare Me The Lecture. If It Is Truly So Upsetting, I Will Adjust My Language. The Beast Is Malfunctioning. <em>She</em> Is No Longer Responding To Rewards.”</p><p>The snark was unwarranted, but you appreciated Black’s willingness to meet you halfway.</p><p>“While Wuffie loves treats, if you feed her whenever she does something right, she’ll get chubby. You can motivate her in other ways. A little praise can go a long way. She loves hearing how good and cute she is.”</p><p> “Human. Why Is Your Pathetic Mind So Fixated On This ‘Cuteness’?! How Does It Benefit You?”</p><p>“Most other people, me included, enjoy the feeling we get when we look at something cute. It’s pleasant. Like a warm hug, but for your heart. Surely you’ve experienced it.” You sneak a glance back at Mutt collapsed on the bench, napping. “Maybe like when your brother was little. Was Mutt cute as a baby?”</p><p>Black is aghast at your line of reasoning. He still takes the time to consider, folding his arms and taping his booted foot to make it clear he isn’t thrilled about it. “As A Babybones, My Brother Was Small And Useless. Now He Is Much Larger, And Marginally Less Useless. Never Have I Gotten A ‘Heart Hug’ Just By Looking At Him.”</p><p>“Not even when he was doing something especially precious? For example…he could have drawn a messy family portrait for you as a kid. Or tripped, gotten hurt, and come to you for help. What do you feel when that happens?”</p><p>“Hm. I Am Beginning To Grasp Your Lowly Human Logic. I Recall A Pleasant Emotion When A Weak, Injured Monster Seeks My Protection. This ‘Cuteness’ Is The Feeling Of Having A Pathetic Creature Completely At Your Mercy?”</p><p>You chew the inside of your cheek. This was harder to explain than you bargained for. “Uhh, you’re getting closer, but not quite. It’s more like a feeling that makes you want to protect them.”</p><p>“Now I See. Humans Are Easily Swayed By Emotions. They Chose Who To Protect Based On ‘Cuteness’, Not Worthiness. Such Indulgence Explains The Sorry State Of Your Species. The Malevolent Black Would Never Offer Security To The Undeserving.”</p><p>“Oh! I think I get it. Instead of calling her cute, you just have to communicate to Wuffie that she’s deserving of you!” You choose to ignore his trash-talking of humanity in favor of your breakthrough. “She’s very skilled at reading tone and facial expressions, so even if you use different words than I do she’s sure to get the message.”</p><p>“Very Well.” Black’s disgust twists his skull into a resigned grimace. He lowers himself to Wuffie’s level and mumbles something into her fluffy ear. You can’t make out the words, but it must have been something sweet because Wuffie perks up and her tail swishes across the floor. Seeing him whisper praise to the collie like it was some big secret was surprisingly… adorable.</p><p>Black’s head jolts in your direction and he rises to his feet. “What Did You Just Call Me?” his tone is lethal. Oh shit. You did not mean to say that out loud. “This Is Another Term For ‘Cute’, Correct? Am I To Believe You Have Been Overcome By The Desire To Protect Me? How Ridiculous! If I Weren’t Amused By Your Arrogance I Would Be Insulted.”</p><p>“<em>My</em> arrogance?” you can’t help but voice your disbelief. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.</p><p>“Yes. It Is Arrogance Of You To Presume That You, A LV-less And Frail Human Could Offer Any Semblance Of Security To The Captain Of The Royal Guard. Even This Vigilant Beast Has More To Offer.”</p><p>A flash of blue in your periphery snags your attention and your scowl turns smug. “I could protect you just fine. I think you might be surprised how much I have to offer. Such as…there’s currently a small skeleton charging towards you from behind.”</p><p>“Wha—” Black turns around just in time for the skeleton wearing a blue scarf and gray pauldrons to tackle him in a hug.</p><p>“BLACKBERRY!!!!” the newcomer only managed to keep his arms around Black for a moment before being violently shoved off. “Why Are You Here On Your Day Off? With A Dog? And A…HUMAN?!”</p><p>“That’s CAPTAIN BLACK To You, Private! And It’s None Of Your Business!”</p><p>“Black…berry?” you question, bewildered and amused.</p><p>“YEP! He’s Blackberry And I’m Blueberry! We’re Super Alike, Can’t You Tell?!” Blueberry says this with such enthusiasm that you feel obligated to do a thorough comparison of the two skeleton monsters.</p><p>Black is a few inches taller than Blueberry, but that could just be the boots he’s wearing. He is significantly more scarred and “rougher” looking. Their clothing tastes are night and day. Yet they share waifish frames and similar skull shapes. And a career, if those titles are anything to go by.</p><p>It’s their body language that made them seem so distinct to you. As usual, Black has a rigid bearing with a ramrod straight spine. It was fitting of a monster of his position. And enormous ego. Blueberry is practically bouncing on his heels. His arms swing around and gesticulate as he talks. </p><p>“The resemblance is uncanny,” you answer, half to humor Blueberry and half to piss off Black. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N. Are you two related, by chance?”</p><p>“Cousins—” Blackberry spits out between gritted teeth at the same time Blueberry yells, “We’re Cousins!”</p><p>With a lurch, you hear Mutt standing just behind you as he solicits, “want me to get rid of the runt?”</p><p>Black nods impatiently. “Yes, He Is Disrupting Training.”</p><p> “c’mon blue. ya ‘eard m’lord. le’s go.” Mutt grabs Blueberry by the humerus and begins dragging him towards the door.</p><p>“Wait! I’ve Barely Gotten A Chance To Talk To The Human! Or Pet The Dog!”</p><p>Not wanting to disappoint the sweet-seeming skeleton, you follow the pair of cousins into the hallway where Mutt releases Blueberry and blocks his re-entrance. “You can still talk to me Blueberry. I’ll give you my number and you can text me anytime.”</p><p>“Really?!” His face lights up in an endearing display of childlike enthusiasm. “That’s A Wonderful Idea, Y/N! Here!” He retrieves his phone from a pouch attached to a belt loop and places it in your waiting hands. You enter your name and phone number into his contacts, inputting a smiley face in the section that says, “company name”.</p><p>“There you go. Look forward to hearing from you.”</p><p>“Good-Bye, Friendly Human! Good-bye, Cousin!”</p><p>A tangible loss of liveliness is felt by you as the energetic Blueberry disappears down the hallway. His bubbliness is contagious.</p><p>“got a reason for collectin my cousins’ numbers? there’s no prize for getting ‘em all.” Mutt asks wryly, leaning against the doorway.</p><p>You guffaw. “You mean there’s no achievement I’ll unlock? Damn. Really though, I don’t want to leave that interaction there. Especially with how rude you two were. Don’t think I didn’t notice! Just because he’s family doesn’t give you a free pass for being disrespectful.”</p><p>“hhm.”</p><p>Unsatisfied with his noncommittal response, you jest, “’Hhm’ is right, asshole. C’mon, let’s go back to your brother before he sic’s ‘The Beast’ on us.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Reading next to someone is a strangely intimate activity. Basically first base, right?</p><p>Maybe reader SHOULD get a prize for when you get every skelly's number...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mutt swivels in the bar stool. His fangs grind the butt of the cigarette hanging from his maw. You weren’t here yet, and the anticipation was getting to him. His skull sinks until his jaw is resting against his radius, and he's eye-level with the glass of monster whiskey he’d ordered.</p>
<p>This is normally a place of relaxation for him. Where he was entirely liberated from expectation. Where he could wallow in nothingness and drink himself into a state where that nothingness was blissful. It had been a tedious process to find the right place. Like most of his alternates, he preferred the indulgently greasy food made at Grillby’s. Ironically, the fire monster did not allow smoking in his establishment. What’s worse, sharing a favorite with his alternates made it more likely they’d run into each other. Something none of them wanted. Especially while drinking. This no-name bar with shitty bar food and even shittier service was ideal for avoidance. It had everything he needed: a poor enough reputation to keep m’lord away, cheap booze, a circulation of women eager to hook up with him, and a pool table. It was his solitary refuge.</p>
<p>Not today, however. Today, it’s the destination of Mutt and yours first ‘friendship outing’. This latest development in his social life left him feeling ambivalent. He craved attention. Well-intentioned attention, especially. It was a scarcity underground and now that he was on the surface, he was going to help himself to the abundance of people and monsters willing to admire and be affectionate with him. The simplest strategy he’d found for him to capitalize on this was by drinking himself out of his inherent distrust of humanity and strangers and fucking a random girl who he’d hopefully never see again. The intensity of the interaction was enough to keep him satisfied for a while. And, more importantly, there were no strings attached. No restrictions or obligations.</p>
<p>Which led him to the uncomfortable part of his mental state tonight. He enjoys your attention. Significantly. Enough to leave his comfort zone and attempt a friendship. And while he is looking forward to giving you more opportunity to get comfortable (and possibly sleep) with him, it doesn’t negate the slimy sensation in Mutt’s metaphorical gut, struggling against the bonds of your expectations. What exactly did you want from him? If he felt off and shortcutted away tonight, would your fledgling friendship end? If you spent time alone with him, would the novelty wear off and leave you disappointed? Were you only being courteous to him out of fear of his brother? The uncertainty doesn’t sit well with him. Sitting up, he kicks back the whiskey and wipes his teeth against the sleeve of his jacket. He’d be fine. This is his territory, familiar and predictable. The only uncertain variable tonight is you.</p>
<p>Indignation rises in him at his own pitiful thoughts. It’s just you. You, a single, nonviolent, nonthreatening human. What does he, the Watchdog of the ruthless underground, have to fear from you? He knows where you live. He could kill you without any substantial exertion on his part. His hearing practically rings from the imaginary scolding from m’lord. <em>Drowning In Self-Doubt Over A Meager Human? Exactly What I’d Expect From My Foolish Younger Brother. This Is Why I’m In Charge! Do You Think I’d Hesitate Over Something As Minor As An Unimportant Human’s Whims? Of Course Not! Shape Up!</em></p>
<p>Though harsh, the inner voice steels him. You wouldn’t get to him. Mutt came to have an amusing night, and nothing would be stopping him. His resolve lasts until the time you’re meant to arrive. For every minute passed that point, more worries creeped into his consciousness. Was he being stood up? You didn’t seem like the kind of person to do that to someone. Is Mutt so upsetting to you, that you’d agree to meet with him to his face, then bail? He orders several more drinks to drown his worries. In what feels like a long time later, Mutt’s bout of self-pity drinking is interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Sorry I’m late! Had a pinch of trouble finding this place.” Your friendly smile greets him, your head pivoting to take in the room. Once he sees you, Mutt’s fears dissipate like dew in the afternoon sun. “You gonna show me around?”</p>
<p>Truthfully there wasn’t much more to be seen. Once you squeeze through the narrow hallway entrance the bar opens into a seating area with a few booths crammed into the corners and a small platform for live performances. The dim lighting combined with the over-decorated walls and crowded furnishings must be deceiving your human eyes, giving you the illusion of interest.</p>
<p>Still, he humors you, giving the surroundings an appraising nod and sliding off the stool. “mhm. one grand tour, comin’ up.” He strides over to the first stop of the “tour”, craning his skull behind to make sure you were following.</p>
<p>“By all means, go ahead.” You pipe up from behind.</p>
<p>“here on yer left w’ve got tha broken jukebox. owner thought a retro look would bring ‘n the young, hip crowd.” Eyeing your fellow bar-goers, you pick up that the average attendee is in their 40’s and 50’s.</p>
<p>“Didn’t quite work out for him, huh?”</p>
<p>“dunno. ‘m ere, aren’t i? ‘m pretty hip.” To emphasis his pun he pulls his sweater up just enough to showcase the top of his hipbone.</p>
<p>“Mutt!” you chastise, playfully smacking his shoulder, “That’s scandalous! You can’t show that kinda skin in here.”</p>
<p>“can’t get ‘n trouble for showin skin if y’ain’t got skin ta show.”</p>
<p>“Hmm, I disagree. For humans, bones are usually beneath the skin, making them even more scandalous to show in public. It’s like being <em>double</em> naked.” Your hand reaches up to stroke your chin in an exaggerating thinking pose. “Now that I think about it…are humans attractive to you because you know there are skeletons beneath our skin clothing? Or is it a whole different thing?”</p>
<p>He holds back a chuckle. <em>Skin clothing</em>. Not a phrase he was expecting to hear tonight. The question isn’t something he’s given much thought to. If he’s into humans, he’s into humans. Little point in psychoanalyzing it. Conjuring up images of humans showing bone, under and through the skin provokes a variety of mental reactions. Considering most of those situations involves severe hunger or injury, he knows the right answer is to deny any appeal of seeing them. It wouldn’t be entirely honest, though. Mutt is keen on shallow curve of spines, and the intricate bones of the feet and hands. Sensing these inexplicably attracts him. Would the gore of broken skin deter that attraction? Hard to say. He did harbor sadistic tendencies, after all. It might amplify the attraction instead. However, you really didn’t need to hear about that.</p>
<p>It isn’t the full truth, either. There are things about the human body with no skeletal basis that he’s drawn towards. The soft, flowy hair on sprouting from your scalp and the stripes of hair above your eyes held an odd appeal for him.  The details and colors of your skin are charming. In comparison, bone seems pale and monotonous.</p>
<p>Lowering his gaze up and down your body, it’s hard to pin down every facet of the appeal. The plush of your breasts, dip of your waist, the fullness of your thighs. The sheer softness of skin on his magic…</p>
<p>“Taking awhile to answer there, buddy. You’re not picturing what I look like under my skin, are you?”</p>
<p>Blinking, his eyelights return upwards to meet your gaze. He may have gotten a bit distracted from your question.</p>
<p>“You totally were! Shameless horndog.”</p>
<p>“just thinkin. ‘s a bit of both.”</p>
<p>“Huh?”</p>
<p>“attraction ta humans. ‘s both a skeleton thing and somethin that’s hard to explain.” Mutt shrugs off your inquisitive stare and leads you to the next stop on the tour. The destination is a poster hanging above the stage. It depicts a pair of sneakers covered in syrup and butter, about to be devoured by a beast with three heads. It’s advertising an album you’ve never heard of by a band you don’t recognize. “’ere’s a rare treasure. signed by the most famous band to ‘ave ever performed ‘ere.”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe I’ve heard of them. What genre are they?”</p>
<p>“no one has. they’re shit.”</p>
<p>Your expression morphs into one an indecipherable mix of enjoyment and outrage. “You’re so full of it.”</p>
<p>“’s true.”</p>
<p>“Even so! Think about all the hard work that went into their performances, and this album. They don’t deserve that kind of disrespect. What if it was you, pouring your heart out into your music? How’d you feel about some edgy skeleton calling all your hard work ‘shit’?”</p>
<p>“depends. is my music shit?”</p>
<p> Mutt’s tomfoolery is rewarded by your spontaneous laughter. Once your spout of giggles is exhausted, you give him a meaningful look. It goes on long enough to make him wonder if he’d upset you. But instead of getting angry at him, you look away with a shy smile. “I think I get it.”</p>
<p>“get what?”</p>
<p>“The kind of attraction that’s hard to explain. Your eyelights. They’re entirely inhuman. It doesn’t make sense to be attracted to them. But…they’re beautiful. Like starlight.”</p>
<p>“…oh, ok.” Mutt reacts lamely. A slew of potential responses ricochet through his mind<em>. i could tell her that her eyes are beautiful too. they are. it’s odd that wet, fleshy orbs can be so beautiful. or…should I thank her? no, maybe I should be insulted that she used the word ‘beautiful’ and not, ‘handsome’ or ‘virile’.</em> Ultimately, he decides on indecision and maintains silence as he guides you to the next stop. His personal favorite, thus far.</p>
<p>“this is the haunted part o’ the bar.”</p>
<p>“That so? Did someone die of alcohol poisoning here?”</p>
<p>“no. but there are many spirits and boos.”</p>
<p>You shake your head and grin. “Spooky.”</p>
<p>“this’s the drug dispenser, tom.”</p>
<p>“It’s Ron,” the bartender corrects gruffly, looking altogether done with Mutt already.</p>
<p>“ron,” Mutt amends. Reclaiming his bar stool, he asks you, “what’ll ya be havin tonight?”</p>
<p>“One Moscow Mule, please, Ron. And a flight of your best craft beers.”</p>
<p>“beer here tastes like piss.” You snort, turning to him with a raised brow.</p>
<p>“Maybe that’s what I’m into?” at his impassive stare, you fold, sighing, “Alright, fine. Scratch the beers. I’ll take a Whiskey sour instead.”</p>
<p>Ron nods, pulls out a few glasses and prepares the cocktails. Once the drinks are ready, Mutt brings you on the final leg of the tour, passed the bathrooms and up the stairs, to more secluded seating area. In fact, besides Mutt and you, none of the bar’s patrons seems interested in this area and the two of you are alone with the pool tables and ancient pinball machine.</p>
<p>“this’s the good stuff.” Mutt murmurs, snatching a pool stick off its stand and impishly spins it around. “wanna play? won’t go easy on ya.”</p>
<p>“Good, that’s how I like it. Never go easy on me.” He tries to ignore the suggestive implications of your statement, instead focusing on chalking the end of the cue stick and setting up the rack. “Any special rules you play by?”</p>
<p>“…everytime the cue ball is pocketed, ya hafta take off—”</p>
<p>“Alright, alright. Regular eight-ball rules, then. I’ll go first.”</p>
<p>You lean over the billiards table, laser-focused on your aim. Mutt involuntarily admires your commitment, concentration, and the curve of your ass as you bend to take the break shot. The balls scatter and bounce against the cushions with dull, gratifying clacks.</p>
<p>“nice open break.”</p>
<p>“Thanks. She’s all yours,” you step away from the table and take a swig of your drink.</p>
<p>The low-hanging fruit catches his eye, a striped ten mere inches away from a corner pocket. He saunters around the table. Once he’s found the angle he’s looking for, he leans in to strike, conscious of his loose clothing staying clear of the balls. Your watchful figure in his periphery prompts him not to avoid unnecessary contact fouls. It’s likely you’d call him on it. All the better, as it means you’re less likely to object when he enforces every foul in memory the second you slip up.  </p>
<p>The ten ball and neighboring nine are pocketed seamlessly. “’ve got stripes.”</p>
<p>“I’ll take solids. Stripes are unlucky, anyway.”</p>
<p>Mutt misses his next shot, the target ricocheting off at an angle he didn’t predict. “usin’ psychological warfare? not very sportin of ya, darlin’.”</p>
<p>“I’d have used it sooner if I knew it worked on you.” With a mischievous grin you wave your hands over the table, gesticulating over the cue ball. “There. Everything’s cursed now. I’m definitely going to win.”</p>
<p>“tha’s some big talk fer th’ one who asn’t sunk any balls yet. ‘sides, that kinda superstition don’t work on monsters. made o’ magic, ‘member?”</p>
<p>“Curses aren’t scary for the big, bad monster…but unluckiness is? Guess it takes facts and probability to spook a computer nerd like you. I’ll show you just how bad your odds are against me.”</p>
<p>With scrunched brows and a bitten lip, you strike hard and fast. One and two balls are knocked out, one after the other. A third nearly follows into the pocket but slows to a halt before it reaches its goal. Your smugness is both endearing and aggravating. Provoked, Mutt overestimates the force needed and jumps the cue ball on his next turn.</p>
<p><br/>“Foul!” you cheer, snatching the cue and placing it in an optimally advantageous position for yourself as penalty. Another solid ball makes its way into the pocket, pulling you into the lead. A few rounds go by, the role of front-runner changing hands each time.</p>
<p>Finally, nothing remains but the eight ball. It’s your turn. You lick your lips, marking the center left pocket, and bring your arm back. It’s then that Mutt notices.</p>
<p>“tut, tut. not so fast.” He holds your shoulders from behind, halting your shot. One hand slides down to the side of your thigh, giving it a tap for emphasis. Your vision snaps to the leg he’s touching. Haughtiness gives way to a scowl as you realize your mistake. “must ‘ave both feet firmly on the ground. none o’ this leg poppin’. tha’s a foul for ya, darlin’. be takin’ this.” He cranes over you to seize the cue ball.</p>
<p>“That’s bullshit and you know it.” you complain, staring him down from between his arms.</p>
<p>“’s the rules. didn’t peg ya for a rulebreaker. wait till m’lord finds out.” Mutt basks in your closeness and frustration. Immensely gratified by your aura of stubborn resolve, he allows you to push passed him to down the remnants of your whiskey.</p>
<p>“Whatever. Shoot your shot. But if you win, I’m getting a rematch.”</p>
<p>“rematch suits me jus’ fine.”</p>
<p>That night awakened a competitive edge to your relationship. Mutt took the first victory, and you the rematch. The bar closed before you could settle the score with a third round. The contest continued through a vicious Mario Kart tournament at your place a few days later. Once Mutt declared blue shells entirely unfair and game-breaking, the preferred medium of your competition became rounds of Rocket League at the lodge. It became habit to end all m’lord and Wuffie’s <strike>playdates</strike> training sessions with an evening of gaming with you.</p>
<p>It’s just as well. Mutt can channel his energy, pent-up from not fucking you, into wiping the floor with you in video games. It’s difficult to worry about your intentions while you’re brazenly declaring your intentions: to completely crush him in car soccer and dance on his dust. The trash talk is easier to take than your compliments. It has the added benefit of being undeniably hot. At times your verbal dunking on him strays dangerously close to dirty talk. Enough so that m’lord refuses to be in the same room as the two of you while you were gaming.</p>
<p>Mutt’s brief exploration of friendship has left him with two conclusions. One, there might be something to the ‘sex being more desirable with a trusted friend’ thing you told him. The more time he spent with you, the more sensitive he got to even the most casual and friendly of your touches. If this extends to the bedroom as well…let’s just say he’s eager to test that hypothesis. Two, as much as your presence can rile him, he’s also left with a sort of friendship after-glow. He’s less snappish with Stretch and Vanilla. Staying sober comes easier. M’lord has less reasons to scold him.</p>
<p>A third conclusion coalesces unwillingly in the back of his consciousness.</p>
<p><em>this human has me entirely fucking whipped.</em> <em> what the hell am i supposed to do about that?<br/></em></p>
<p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>friendship :')<br/>Just friendship, absolutely nothing else going on.<br/>Life hack from Mutt: Scared of emotional intimacy with the people you care about? Just think about how easy it is for you to kill them! Works everytime. Just kidding, it never fucking works.<br/>Reader might need to send his bony ass to therapy.</p>
<p>For anyone who's a billiards expert, kindly ignore my butchery of the rules and lingo.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day has arrived for your hike with Fang. The weather is clear, your hiking boots on, park pass purchased.</p><p>A gust of wind tousles your hair. Sunlight warms the exposed skin on your arms and thighs. Fang turns his snout into the breeze, scenting the air. In moments like these, you’re envious of monsters for their heightened senses. There must be a wealth of wonderful smells unavailable to you. However, even with your dulled human nose, the aroma of wildflowers and pine still swirls pleasantly in your background of awareness. This is just the beginning. The experience will be even richer once you leave the barren parking lot.</p><p>Since hiking Petrovern Peak from inside the canyon would take more than a daytrip, you elected to start part of the way up. The road to this point wasn’t paved. The dirt and dust your vehicle had kicked up hangs low in the air and collects on your ankles.</p><p>“ready?” Fang asks, already at the trailhead. Two camelbacks are slung over his shoulders as he’d insisted on carrying yours in addition to his own.</p><p>“Just about. I’d like to send a few texts before we lose cell service.” Dogs are forbidden in Sylvan Ravine to protect the delicate wildlife, so you’d left Wuffie with Black. He has proved himself reliable so far. Plus, just in case, you have Mutt sending you status updates. The most recent one had been sent during your drive up. You open it, smiling at the image of Wuffie performing one of the new tricks Black had taught her.</p><p>You: Glad the <em>paw</em>sitive rein<em>fur</em>cement is working. About to head up the mountain. Ttyl</p><p>Another message is waiting for you, this one from Blueberry. Since he’d gotten your number, you’d enjoyed a lighthearted correspondence with him in the form of inspirational quotes, snippets from his day, and shared thoughts about whatever games you’d both been playing. It’s been fun. Normally you’d be reluctant to text someone much before getting to know them in person, but with Blue, it feels natural.</p><p>Blueberry: GOOD LUCK ON YOUR HIKE TODAY! BE SAFE!!! Drink Lots Of Water!</p><p>Attached is a cute gif of a backpacker circumnavigating a teensy earth.</p><p>You: Thanks, I will! Sorry you couldn’t join us, but the citizens of Ebott need you! Next time?</p><p>Your plans for today had come up with him a few days ago and he’d expressed his excitement for going hiking, or in his words, ‘training’ with you, but he didn’t have enough notice to get the day off. Another notification dings in.</p><p>Horndog: shoulda stayed home. could be <em>mountain</em> me instead</p><p>Since that heart-to-heart with Mutt about your sexuality, his flirting has not slowed down in the least. Thankfully, you’re more comfortable with it now that you’re on the same page. You can’t resist getting the final word before tucking your phone away.</p><p>You: Take a hike, horndog :P</p><p> </p><p>“Alright. Now I’m ready!”</p><p>The trail begins with a shallow slope. It’s unpaved, but the larger rocks and would-be obstacles are moved out of the way. As a result, it’s unnecessary to watch your feet and you’re free to notice Fang peeking back at you every several yards, presumably to make sure you’re not falling behind.</p><p>“Should I go in front?”</p><p>Fang nods and stops to let you pass him. Even with the forgiving incline, you’re afraid your pace is pitiful in comparison to Fang’s long-legged strides and you feel a bit bad for slowing him down. You say as much, and he vigorously shakes his head.</p><p>“i like this. this is good.”</p><p>Brief, but reassuring. You stop worrying about setting a winning pace and instead focus on your breathing and the lovely scenery. There isn’t an overabundance of trees at this elevation, so you admire the panoramas of grassy hills and wildflowers.</p><p>As expected, Fang doesn’t talk much. What he lacks in loquaciousness is made up for in listening skills, making noises of disapproval or satisfaction as you tell stories from your work week.</p><p>“I can’t tell you how many clients come in smelling absolutely rancid. You’d think it’d be common sense to shower before a massage, right? If not right before then at least the day of. Nope. People don’t seem to get it. You’re going to be mostly undressed in an enclosed room with a stranger…of course we’re going to be bothered if you don’t practice basic hygiene!”</p><p>“mm.” A sympathetic grunt.</p><p>“Anyway, we installed a shower for people to use with the new sensory deprivation tank. It’s not strictly necessary since the water is way too salty for bacteria to grow but it makes the experience better. And I begged my boss, now that we have these showers, we should require everyone to use them. The extra towels would mean we’d need to do laundry more often, but I think it’d be worth it.”</p><p>“mm.” A grumble of approval.</p><p>“Even if we don’t require a shower for every appointment…if we just tell the smelly clients that we do...that’d be so much better. Sneaky, I know, but an innocent lie like that wouldn’t hurt anybody. My boss won’t allow me to do it, though. Doesn’t want a customer to find out and throw a fit.”  Sighing, you glance at Fang behind you. His bony brow is raised in skepticism at your insubordinance. “Hey, you have no room to judge. Come back when you have unreasonable coworkers to deal with.”</p><p>A huff.</p><p>“You still don’t have a job, don’t you? What do you do with all your free time?”</p><p>“this. being outdoors.”</p><p>“An outdoorsman, eh? That’s nice. I don’t know about monsters, but humans are done a lot of good by spending time in nature. What do you do when you’re indoors?”</p><p>“…eat?”</p><p>You laugh at his innocent answer. “Nice try. Eating doesn’t count as hobby. What else have you got?”</p><p>Fang fidgets his phalanges. “i like tai chi.”</p><p>“Oh! That’s the martial art that’s all…slow. And stuff.” You often surprise yourself with your glibness. Thankfully he isn’t offended by your lackluster description and simply hums acknowledgement.</p><p>A rustling in the undergrowth snatches your attention. You cautiously slow your steps to investigate, hoping to catch sight of one park’s fauna. Many native birds like to make their nests in the brush.</p><p>A rattlesnake emerges from the grass and into your path.</p><p><em>Shit</em>. You curse yourself for wearing shorts and making your legs all that much more vulnerable to be bitten. You’re drawing a blank on venomous snake safety protocol. Should you be trying to make a lot of noise? To run away, or to stay perfectly still? To make yourself seem bigger to scare it off?</p><p>It slithers closer. You can make out its beady eyes against its camouflaged scales. Your muscles tense.</p><p>Fang pulls you back and into his chest while you’re paralyzed with indecision.</p><p>As the snake recoils to strike, Fang uses his hand to cover your eyes, the other arm tightly wrapped around your middle.</p><p>Through the gaps in his bones you see a blinding beam of light. It’s as if someone had woken you in the pitch-black night with the high beams of a semitruck. Your eyes water and blink to adjust as the bright light fades.</p><p>The rattlesnake has been reduced to ash and bones and an entire square yard of earth has been blackened. The soil is smoldering. Nearby plants are eviscerated. The scent of lightning fills your nostrils with every breath.</p><p>Suddenly a rattlesnake bite doesn’t seem so scary.</p><p>You lift your chin to stare at the monster responsible. His eyelights are a blazing blue, gazing back at you. Wisps of smoke leak from behind his fangs. The scent of ozone oozes from his skull. You tremble, a cold sweat building up. Unsteady, you hold fast to his humerus and let him support you.</p><p>Once he’s sure you’re stable again, Fang releases you and retreats several paces away, giving you space. Moments pass, watching each other. It feels as though you’re seeing him for the first time. Like two strangers meeting in a lawless land, waiting to see who’ll draw their gun.</p><p>The tension is too much for your befuddled brain and you burst into laughter.</p><p>“Holy shit. I didn’t realize you were a fucking dragon, Fang!”</p><p>“’m not.” He’s looking you over as if he’s worried you lost some sanity in the altercation, but visibly relieved that you don’t seem frightened anymore.</p><p>“Oh yeah? Can all monsters just shoot hellfire out of their mouths?”</p><p>“…no.”</p><p>“Do you have wings and a hoard of gold in a cave up here?”</p><p>“no hoard.” A blue blush sprouts on his cheekbones. The juxtaposition of the suddenly bashful skeleton with the evidence of his destruction…strange, to say the least. Like seeing an adorable wolf cub with its fresh kill.</p><p>“No hoard, but you do have wings?” you ask in disbelief. Knowing that one of your friends can <em>fly</em> sort of changes the way you look at them.</p><p>“sometimes.” This must be a sensitive subject as Fang can no longer look at you and his coloring has intensified.</p><p>“Ha, alright. If you don’t want to tell me about all your dragon powers, I’ll let it go, for now. But don’t think I’m going to forget!” You sink onto a nearby rock to take the strain of your still-wobbly legs. With a somber tone, you add, “No, seriously, Fang. I’m not going to forget—you saved me. I…thank you. Even when those snake bites aren’t fatal, they’re massively painful. You saved me from that. I’m grateful. If there’s anything I can do to repay you, let me know.”</p><p>Fang draws closer to crouch in front of your rock, bringing his eye level down to yours. “don’t owe me. i…want you safe.”</p><p>Your hand extends to pat his skull like you did the first time you met. As you draw it back, he catches it.</p><p>“can you walk ok?”</p><p>“I might need a bit of assistance,” you admit, allowing him to help you up. “Can I hang onto you for a while?”</p><p>A nod. You lock an elbow with his and use your other arm to brace yourself against his radius. The hike continues at a deliberate pace. The trail is just barely wide enough for two people so you walk hip to hip.</p><p>By the time you reach the last stretch to the summit you feel confident enough to detach yourself and pull ahead of Fang. A series of strenuous switchbacks stand between you and the peak. You’re thankful he can’t see your face as you begin breathing heavily from exertion.</p><p>After a lot of huffing and puffing, you make it to the picturesque Petrovern Peak.</p><p>Energy depleted, you plop down on a rock overlooking the canyon for a well-earned break. Fang takes a seat beside you. Sylvan Ravine’s primary highway and a popular overlook are visible far below. They disturb the illusion of uninterrupted nature; however, the cars and people are so puny that you’re still left with an impression of separation from civilization. It’s as if you and Fang are gods on Mount Olympus. Benevolent and detached, you overlook your subjects from on high.</p><p>You feel especially close to mythology considering the monster at your side. Fang’s demeanor is humble, his clothes unexceptional exercise attire, but he exudes a certain noble energy. Calm and collected yet void of the egotism often accompanying those traits. He doesn’t put himself above his surroundings.</p><p>That’s not to mention his magical appearance and abilities. When Fang extinguishes his eyelights to bask in the sun, you sneak a more detailed look at him. His skull creates an inspiring profile against the lush background of the mountain range. Even knowing the skeleton is fully alive, seeing a common symbol of death amid the trees and wildflowers is striking.</p><p>His dagger-like teeth, the inky blackness between the bisection of his maxilla, the sharp protrusions from the occipital lobe… you wonder if Fang’s gentleness comes instinctively to him, or if it was developed to offset his intimidating features. Regardless, the contrast generates a mysterious air. Not unlike a spirit of the forest. One with no ill will, but with all the cruel power of nature itself.</p><p>Now you’re just being dramatic. This is Fang you’re thinking about, after all. The reserved monster you met at a furry bar. You avert your gaze before he can catch you staring.</p><p>His eyelights return, unfocused.</p><p>Making sure you have his attention so as not to spook him, you unzip one of the packs over his shoulder and pull out two packed lunches.</p><p>“Here,” you offer a baggied sandwich, “Hope you like peanut butter and jelly.”</p><p>He accepts with an appreciative nod.</p><p>You enjoy your lunch in friendly quiet, taking frequent sips of water to offset the stickiness of the peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth. Occasionally a gust of wind will attempt to make off with your napkin and plastic bag. Staying vigilant, you catch the trash before it can get carried off. You’d be disappointed in yourself if you littered in this beautiful place, even unintentionally.</p><p>Fang finishes eating before you do. Eyeing his sizeable maw, it makes sense. He can take bigger bites. Can probably even take the whole thing down the hatch in one go.</p><p>“walk on the living, they don't even mumble. walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble.” Fang murmurs. This might be the most you’ve heard Fang speak consecutively. You could get used to it, the rumbling timbre doing wonderful things to your heart.</p><p>“A riddle? For someone who claims to not be a dragon you do seem to be set on ticking all the boxes. Let’s see, living don’t mumble, dead mutter and grumble…” Your mind snags on skeletons, but that clearly wouldn’t make sense. And you weren’t aware of a living thing that would getting walked on without mumbling about it. It must be unrelated to any sentient life. Some kind of plant? “I don’t know. What are they?”</p><p>“leaves.” He holds one sandwiched between his middle and pointer phalanges and places it atop your head.</p><p>You shake the leaf from your hair and snicker at his abrupt playfulness. “don’t <em>leaf</em> me.” Wanting to return the favor, you gather freshly fallen leaves and toss them his way. One of them gets nestled in his nasal bone. He sneezes.</p><p>“i’m in disbe<em>leaf</em>.” Fang’s larger hand size is adept at snatching piles of fallen leaves and tossing them at you. You guffaw and try to dodge the projectiles while collecting your own ammunition. It doesn’t take long before the two of you are thoroughly speckled by leaves caught in the fiber of your clothing and, in Fang’s case, between ridges of bone.</p><p>Seeing the plant matter adorning him gives you an idea. “Wait here.”</p><p>It takes a minute of scavenging to gather your materials, treading carefully off-trail to avoid crushing fragile flora. Only the healthiest and best-smelling samples are taken. It takes another several minutes to weave them into a circle. He long-sufferingly watches your fingers interlace the stalks until you have a proper flower crown. “There!” you present it to him, “A thank you for saving me.”</p><p>His head lowers in acquiescence and you crown him with the colorful wreath of flowers. Now he truly looks like a spirit of nature, you think, stepping back to admire your work. The crown settles skiwompus between the pointed ridges of his skull, the petals pigments clashing prettily with the paleness of bone.</p><p>The perfume of the blossoms mingles with the unique fragrance bestowed to the plants, brushed by your breath and shaped by your hands. “smells good,” Fang compliments.</p><p>“Who needs cologne when you can wear fresh flowers instead?”</p><p>“makes <em>scents</em>.”</p><p>It takes moment for you to get it. “Hahaha, you dork! Come on. Let’s start heading back.”</p><p>The return trip is faster as you allow gravity to quicken your steps. The impact is heavy on your knees, but your steps as solid after your long rest at lunch. You intentionally slow yourself around sharp bends and drop-offs. The last thing you want is another incident on this hike, especially one where you catapult yourself off the cliff through your own cockiness.</p><p>Technically, you get your wish. It’s not until the hike is completed and you’re well into the parking lot that it happens.</p><p>You fumble your feet and fall forward. Your hands and knees collide cruelly with the ground.</p><p>Automatically, your tear ducts activate, and you blink forcefully in frustration. It doesn’t even hurt that bad, but your body didn’t seem to get the memo.</p><p>Shock keeps you on the ground for a moment before you push yourself back onto the seat of your pants and assess the damage. The heels of your palms are an irritated red from catching the brunt of your fall.</p><p>Fang sprints up to you, joining your search. The most blatant harm is a scrape running up your calf. The sharp rock you must’ve landed on sits a few inches away, separated from its peers by the mocking red of your blood. Your knees are abraded but you are otherwise unharmed.  </p><p>“This is embarrassing.” You complain behind the back of your hand. “Who makes it through a difficult hike like that only to biff it in the parking lot?”</p><p>Wordlessly, Fang pulls you into his arms. You’re relocated to the passenger seat with your legs hanging out the side. This gives him easy access as he crouches to inspect the extent of your injuries.</p><p>He gingerly elevates your damaged calf, retrieving water from his pack to pour over the wound. You’re unable to withhold a jolt at the cold as it contacts the normally unexposed layers of skin. Watery blood spills down your leg to be absorbed greedily by the dusty dirt.</p><p>A very long, very <em>blue</em> tongue extends from Fang’s snout to lap delicately at the scrape. The heat of his magic soothes you, even as your mind reels from the suggestive image of Fang between your legs <em>licking</em> you. This is the second time you’ve been licked by a skeleton. Is a pattern developing?</p><p>It isn’t as powerful as healing magic, but the effect is comforting. Once his tongue is done “cleaning” your wounds, the scrapes have stopped bleeding and your eyes have stopped watering.</p><p>“You’ve got to stop being so nice, Fang. I know kindness isn’t a competition but how am I supposed to catch up if you’re doing shit like this all the time?”</p><p>“tough.” His expression seems to taunt, <em>try and stop me</em>. Your mouth ticks up at the corners as you resign yourself to a not so unpleasant future of striving to reciprocate all of Fang’s helpfulness.</p><p>It isn’t long before you’ve said goodbye to Fang and are reunited with Wuffie. You prepare a much-anticipated bath for your sore muscles. Epsom salts and lavender soaps are loaded in for maximizing self-care.</p><p>As you sink into the bubbles, you get a deep sense of warmth. An encompassing warmth that has less to do with the heated bathwater and more to do with the monster on your mind. You could get used to this.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Protective Fang is too precious &gt;.&lt;</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It started several weeks ago. You’d come to Axe’s property for the second time. He’d been unaware of the first occasion and you’d kept coming back, while he was at work, while he was trying to sleep. It unnerved him. The others made no attempt to keep him informed of your presence. <em>Typical</em>.</p>
<p>Vanilla was pleased with how well he’d adjusted to human society, playing nice in public and not hunting them for food. Sure, Axe could tolerate humanity. That didn’t mean he trusted them. In his house. Around Papyrus. The thought made his dead socket itch.</p>
<p>There were a few upsides to being pulled into this universe with his alternates, and one of them was security. While he didn’t have much faith in the others, he knew they were powerful. They would protect Papyrus when he left for work or if he was otherwise indisposed. But that was only against something they recognized as a threat and you, you could sneak past their defenses and fuck <em>everything</em> up.</p>
<p>The others were careless, naïve. Even the ones from a rougher universe. They didn’t think a seemingly friendly human could be a threat. A viper in disguise. Drawing closer only to find the best place to strike. Axe knew better. Learned his lesson.</p>
<p>So, he followed you. To your shitty apartment building. Inside your bedroom. With a practiced stealth he scoured your belongings for any sign of malintent. Half expecting a gun-safe full of monster killing machines, the worst he’d found was pepper spray and standard kitchen knives. But that didn’t change anything. There were ways to express your violent tendencies in more subtle ways. Ways that wouldn’t leave a paper trail. If he was going to find out about them, he’d have to catch you in the act.</p>
<p>That’s what he’s doing here tonight. Waiting on the porch, the perfect listening perch for the sounds of the lodge. He’d heard you come in. He’d hear you leave. And then, he’d follow you home. A piece of him knows how unlikely it is for him to discover anything sinister this way. Unless you were going to kick a puppy or hit a pedestrian en route to your apartment, that is. It doesn’t bother him. He’s a patient monster. He could trail you for years if it meant keeping his brother safe.</p>
<p>The rumble of the sliding door opening startles him out of his reverie and he barely withholds a flinch.</p>
<p>“You couldn’t sleep either?” He turns in the direction your voice. Your frame is backlit against the soft light of the living room. Not waiting for an answer, you join him on the balcony and prop your elbows up on the railing.</p>
<p>Axe grunts affirmation. “somethin’ like that.”</p>
<p>“I love hanging out with Mutt, but sometimes he’ll just take a nap in the middle of a movie marathon and leave me hanging. It’s what, only ten o’clock? I can’t fall asleep that quickly, especially at someone else’s place. Well, not without help…” A mischievous grin lights up your face as you pull a joint from your jacket pocket, giving it a flourish as you do. “Care to be my smoke buddy for the night?”</p>
<p>“…” His red eyelight observes you closely as you light it up. The offer seems innocuous enough. Yet…it remains to be seen how talented of an actor you are. You could be scheming to get his guard down. The joint could be laced with something, a substance that was only toxic to monsters. Or a kind of poison that you were immune to.</p>
<p>You take a deep drag, holding it in and extending the joint towards him. “What do you say?” wisps of smoke escape your mouth as you repeat the offer.</p>
<p>Alright, he admits to himself that last thought is improbable. Axe doesn’t think a substance toxic only to monsters even exists. Another thought occurs to him as you take a second hit. Your defense is equally, if not more, compromised in this situation. Do you really trust him enough to get stoned around him? Or are you just reckless?</p>
<p>“you ain’t worried?”</p>
<p>“About what? Getting caught? Nah. The closest house is a good distance away, smell shouldn’t travel that far. And you don’t strike me as a narc.”</p>
<p>The possibility of him being a risk to you, besides as a ‘narc’, didn’t even occur to you. He scoffs. He must be losing his edge. “fine, pass it over.”</p>
<p>He draws the smoke into his skull cavity where it can be absorbed by his magic. Axe inhales until he’s interrupted by your abrupt descent into giggles. His eyebrow ridges descend, and he watches you struggle to contain your laughter, covering your mouth with your hand and shaking your head.</p>
<p>“what?” he demands, an edge of malice creeping into his voice.</p>
<p>“Hahaha! I’m sorry, it’s just—hahah! It’s not even that funny. The hole in your head you…you look like a chimney!”</p>
<p>Axe directs his eyelight to just above him where, sure enough, smoke was escaping the crater in his cranium to plume above him and disappear into the night sky. He snorts.</p>
<p>“heh. maybe i just needed to <em>vent</em>.”</p>
<p>You laugh freely once you know he’s not offended. “I know what we need.” You take the joint from him and straighten up. “Snacks! I get mega munchy when I smoke. Plus, you sleep better with a full stomach. I’ve got snacks in my bag downstairs. I’ll be right back. Keep this warm for me!” You hit the joint then return it to him, dashing to the sliding door.</p>
<p>Axe watches you disappear inside. He takes another deep inhale and takes a few steps back, sinking into a lawn chair. The smoke that escapes from him is strangely beautiful, lit up in intricate ways by the golden light emanating from the living room. If only Undyne could know what would become of the life-threatening injury she gave him. <em>Not only did she give me a permanent headache, she also gave me the </em>flue. He chuckles darkly at his own pun.</p>
<p>Eventually he gets sick of watching the smoke and instead examines the night sky. He never gets tired of seeing the stars. The other Sans’ probably feel the same way. He’d bet his trusty axe that was why they lived away from the city where the light pollution didn’t obscure all but a few of the brightest celestial objects.</p>
<p>It’s the variety of their luminosity that makes them so beautiful, Axe thinks. Looking into the emptier spaces of the dark only for your eyes to adjust and reveal even more pinpricks of light…</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>“I’m back!” you announce, arms full of chisps and a bag of candy. His eyelight ignites and searches his surroundings frantically. “Oh sorry, did I wake you? Try not to drift off just yet.”</p>
<p>There’s no way…he couldn’t have drifted off. He’s in an open space. In a lawn chair. The old him may have been able to sleep in a place like this, but now he was lucky if he could fall asleep even in his own bed, in complete darkness.</p>
<p>He’s distracted from his disbelief by the crinkling of the chisps packaging being opened. You sit in the chair next to him. “Help yourself,” you suggest, heaping a few handfuls into your mouth.</p>
<p>Axe is aware of supposed effect weed had on humans, turning their appetites into an insatiable black hole. He isn’t worried about that effect on himself, as he is already constantly hungry. He doubts it could get any worse. He accepts your offer of chisps.</p>
<p>The intensity of sensation on his summoned tongue takes him by surprise. He checks the bag, just generic brand, original flavor. Papyrus had bought them a few times and they were nothing special. But damn if they weren’t hitting the spot right now. He shovels more into his maw.</p>
<p>Your mouth is continuously occupied by either eating or smoking, so you don’t talk much. Not that Axe minds. You fall into a companionable quiet, dotted by the chirps of crickets, coughing, and the crunch of the crispy chisps.</p>
<p>Food had been scarce for so long that he had to disregard all preferences of taste. Beggars can’t be choosers. Eventually he’d learned not to pay attention to flavor. Something he couldn’t easily unlearn, now that he’s on the surface. Food was just a means to an end—keeping himself and his brother alive. Axe had forgotten how good things could taste. He runs his tongue over his sharp teeth, collecting the salt that accumulated there. You share the bag of candy with him as well. He enjoys the variety of chocolates and caramels even more than the chisps.</p>
<p>Once the joint has burnt down to the filter and the stocks of snacks has been depleted, you speak up, “Hey. Could I…ask you for a favor?”</p>
<p><em>here it is</em>. The other shoe’s about to drop. You’ll spill your intentions or give him enough of a lead to sniff out your plan. What’s it going to be? Information? Access to monsterkind?</p>
<p>“depends. what is it?”</p>
<p>“…aw, fuck. I forgot.” Holding your temple, you snicker at your own expense. Axe scoffs. <em>high as a kite.</em> Maybe this would be a good time for him to get info, after all. “No, wait, wait, I remember! It’s…kind of embarrassing though.”</p>
<p>Axe stares vacantly, waiting for you to finish. “I’m a massage therapist. I’m also around skeleton monsters a lot lately. And I can’t help but wonder, like…does anything I know even apply to you guys? You don’t have muscles or pressure points. Just magic. Can you massage magic? I looked it up, there’s no theory about it. It’s frustrating but also kind of exciting, you know? Like maybe <em>I</em> could be the one to write the theory. Never thought there’d be a chance to be a trailblazer in message therapy. That field is old as hell. But now that monsters are here, there’s an opportunity for growth. New kinds of massage.”  </p>
<p>You seem to realize that you’re ranting and sheepishly scratch the back of your neck. “So basically, what I’m asking is…can I practice on you? I’d ask Mutt, but…he’d just tease me. Or make it sexual.”</p>
<p>“ya jus’…wanna touch me? that’s the favor?” Axe is dumbstruck.</p>
<p>“Don’t say it like that, you’ll make me blush! But yeah, basically? And I need feedback. To know what works, and doesn’t, for monsters.”</p>
<p>“heh. heheheh.” Axe can’t help but chuckle. It’s out of left field…your dreams of becoming a monster masseuse. So <em>ridiculous</em>. “sure. <em>try</em> <em>it</em>.”</p>
<p>“Yes! Okay, I’m going to start with your shoulders.” You stand up and walk behind Axe’s lawn chair. <em>Behind him</em>. Where you could be pulling a knife from your pocket at any second.</p>
<p>“no. do it in front of me.”</p>
<p>“From the front? I guess that works. It’ll be easier to reach your clavicle that way.” Once in front of him, you must lean forward awkwardly to reach him in the deep seat of the lounger. “Or maybe not. Hmm. Uh, could you actually…” You spread his knees until there’s enough space on the seat of the chair for you to kneel, facing him. “There we go.”</p>
<p>Your hands find his clavicle over his tank top and experimentally press your thumbs into the bottom, the rest of your fingers squeezing from the top. With a constant pressure, you move inwards towards his sternum.</p>
<p>Axe suppresses a shudder. He hates the term touch starved. <em>Hates</em> it. People don’t <em>need</em> touch. They don’t die without it. They don’t suffer constant pain from pangs of touch starvation. Yet as foolish as it is to compare it with actual starving, Axe does recognize he has been without physical contact for a long time. Unless he counts the kind of contact that involves getting your skull bashed in.</p>
<p>He’s unsure if it’s a result of that, or the joint he smoked that’s left his bones rather sensitive. Either way, his phalanges dig into the arms of the chair as you repeat the motion, rotating your fingers as you go, giving equal attention to all areas of the bone.</p>
<p>“Does that feel relaxing at all?”</p>
<p>There were many words that could describe how he’s feeling and <em>relaxed</em> is not among them. “nah.”</p>
<p>“Damn. Lean forward, I’m going to try your shoulder blades next.” He follows your instruction, lifting his back front the chair enough for your hands to slip through, underneath his hoodie. They knead his scapula pressing him even closer to you. Though your eyes are bloodshot and half-lidded, your mouth is twisted in concentration on your work.</p>
<p>“yer eyes are almost as red as mine, peaches.”</p>
<p>Your hands ease up their pressure as you laugh, slipping from his shoulders onto your lap. “We’re matchy.” Distracted, you look over his face, eventually resting your attention on the top of his skull. “I’m sorry I laughed at your head injury. That was cruel of me. You know, with humans, massage is used to rehabilitate injuries. It can ease the pain and promote recovery.”</p>
<p>“this ain’t gonna heal.” Axe growls, more insulted by your pity than your humor.</p>
<p>“Will you let me try? I know I can’t heal it, but I might be able to make it hurt less.”</p>
<p>“fine.” In this position, he could summon bone to stab your soul near instantaneously if you try anything. With that in mind he could hardly deny a chance to ease his chronic headache, as unlikely as that chance may be. Gingerly, you explore his skull with your fingertips. “go harder than that. i’m not made of glass.”</p>
<p>Nodding, you increase the force on the sides of his skull. Ever so gradually you work the bone until you get to the damaged area. If it were muscle, you’d be trying to relax it and reduce inflammation. Could magic work the same way? You try soothing, circular motions around the cavity.</p>
<p>In order to get a good vantage, you’d risen up on your knees, leaving Axe at eye-level with your cleavage. <em>is that her end game? she’s gonna suffocate me with her tits? </em>He decides he’s better off extinguishing his eyelight and focusing on the sensations.</p>
<p>The physical experience of his skull being massaged is…pleasant. However, most of that pleasantness is canceled out by the <em>un</em>pleasantness of having a human causing those feelings. What stands out is the positive intention you are expressing on his magic. It felt <em>almost</em> like healing magic. He can’t help but lean into the comforting feeling.</p>
<p>It ends all to soon as you start withdrawing your hands more and more often to smother yawns.</p>
<p>“I’m about ready to drop, Axe. Thank you for letting me try that on you.” You climb off the chair and grab your things. “I expect a full report tomorrow, text or call,” Your phone is extended in front of him. He humors you and shares his number. “Goodnight!”</p>
<p>The porch is his once again as you leave to crash on the couch downstairs.</p>
<p>He just doesn’t get it. How could you, a seemingly normal, well-adjusted human, talk to him like that? Like old friends. Touch him, like you did? With warm, tender, <em>fragile</em> hands.</p>
<p>A switch flicks in his mind. You aren’t a hidden threat. <em>He</em> is. To you, he’s just another inane skeleton monster. You have no idea what he is capable of. No idea of what he’s done. What he <em>knows</em>.</p>
<p>The magic swirling in his crimson eyelight blurs and expands as he becomes manic. This is a situation he is familiar with. Comfortable with.</p>
<p>He is the Hunter. The Butcher. The Judge.</p>
<p>You are just another clueless human that fell into his territory.</p>
<p>He holds all the cards.</p>
<p>He knows you. Knows where you live, knows where you work, knows what your human insides will look like all split up under his axe—</p>
<p>Wait.</p>
<p>Does he know you? He knows your name. Knows how you like to decorate your room. Knows what your soul looks like. He <em>knows</em>. But…he doesn’t <em>understand</em>.</p>
<p>Why did you share with him? Why did you touch him like that? Why did he…<em>let you</em>?</p>
<p>He <em>needs</em> to know. He <em>will</em> know. After all, he is a patient monster. Given time, his observation of you will lead to answers. Answers that he’s not sure what he’ll do with. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. Wherever the answers lead him, he’ll be there first to bend the situation to his benefit.</p>
<p>He’s not even sure if he wants to hurt you, but now he’s sure he <em>can</em>.</p>
<p>The feeling is <em>intoxicating</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>While you’ve been getting to know the others, Axe has been getting to know you. Unbeknownst to our dear reader.<br/>As we’re delving into darker stuff, obligatory reminder that the relationships portrayed are not meant to be particularly healthy or normal. I trust that you’ve all followed the rating system and are mature enough to know this and use good judgement. </p>
<p>Axe when high: -Detroit: become chimney<br/>-thinks about stars, dabbin on undyne<br/>-impossible to tell weed paranoia from his regular, daily paranoia<br/>-he protec<br/>-he attac<br/>-But most importantly, he  s n a c c</p>
<p>Reader when high: -what if massage, but liek, skeletons???<br/>-so basically, what I was thinking is of, um— *forgets everything* aw fuck I can’t believe I’ve done this<br/>This chapter is inspired by the promising research into the effects of cannabis on treating symptoms of PTSD<br/>Uh… don’t do drugs kids. Unless it means getting stoned with a magical skeleton from an alternate universe, that’d be pretty dope.<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A new unit of Wuffie’s instruction has begun: scent training. This regimen has brought you to a field attached to the public park.</p><p>The sky is overcast. The lack of sunlight and brisk breeze is enough to convince most people to retreat indoors. This leaves the area to just you and Black, with the occasional determined jogger passing by.</p><p>Just you and Black. You frown, missing Mutt’s presence but understanding that he might not want to be here. It can be tedious. Especially when you only sit and watch, as he does.</p><p>Your understanding does not do anything to settle your unease at being alone with Black for the first time. The absence of his brother might affect how he behaves around you. It’s not as if Mutt defends you against his antics, however, Mutt could have imperceptible buffering effects that would only reveal themselves once you see how much worse Black gets without them. That’s your fear, anyway. You do your best to disguise it and think positively despite the gloomy weather.</p><p>“Good afternoon, Black. Can I help you set up?”</p><p>The skeleton monster is fiddling with jars of various scent samples. “Whether Or Not It Is A Good Afternoon Is Yet To Be Seen. Since You Insist On Being Here, You May As Well Help.” He thrusts a pair of gloves at you. “Put These On And Make A Scent Trail. I Will Keep The Beast Here And Distracted, While You Leave A Few Pinches Of This,” He hands you one of the jars, “Every Several Yards, Increasing The Distance Between Samples Each Time.”</p><p>Once gloved, you dip a finger into the jar and hold a bit of its contents up to your nose. “Is this gunpowder?!”</p><p>“Is That So Surprising? It Would Be Useful For The Beast To Detect The Presence Of Nearby Firearms And Explosives.”</p><p>“I just expected you’d start with something less…intense.”</p><p>Black <em>humph</em>s dismissively and you ignore him in favor of beginning your task.</p><p>The trail you lay out zig-zags across the length of the park and should provide a good challenge for Wuffie. You make sure she won’t follow your scent by backtracking over the park from a few directions. Satisfied with your work, you walk back to the starting point and let Black begin the training. He stays a few feet behind Wuffie, throwing her a treat for every five gunpowder piles she finds.</p><p>Buddy-less and bored, you pull out your phone.</p><p>You open the text thread with ‘horndog’, intending to tease him for not being here. Instead you notice that the message you sent to him three days ago is still unanswered. This isn’t like him. You’d asked when you were going to hang out next and Mutt is usually prompt in his responses. A bit worried, you text him again.</p><p>You: Missing you at training. The <em>leash</em>t you could do is show up.</p><p>You: You’re not upset with me or anything, right?</p><p>Five, ten, and twenty minutes pass. No response. You swallow nervously and call him.</p><p>It goes to voicemail. As do the next two calls.</p><p>It becomes undeniable. Mutt’s not here today, not because he’d be bored. He’s avoiding you. Your chest gets heavy. Thoughts anxiously multiply to find the source of the sudden shunning.</p><p>Did you say something wrong?</p><p>Harder to take than his absence is the undeniable possibility that you deserve this.</p><p>The morning after your movie marathon he’d smelled weed on you and complained you didn’t share with him; you’d called him a narcoleptic numbskull.</p><p>When he won the championship at your pool night, you’d sulked and threw the mysterious game room sock at him.</p><p>The last time you’d seen him, you’d gotten cocky at Rocket League and told him to shove his PlayStation controller up his pelvic inlet.</p><p>You thought it had all been good-natured ribbing. Had you crossed a line?</p><p>It’s possible he’d been offended by your teasing this whole time. The trash talk could’ve worn him down to grate on his self-worth. It is difficult for you to read Mutt’s understated facial expressions and you could’ve been severely underestimating his sensitivity. Bitter guilt spreads like poison through your veins. You’ve been a terrible friend, to have hurt him enough to make him feel like he couldn’t even talk to you about it.</p><p>It begins to drizzle, light raindrops kissing your head.</p><p>Black interrupts your brooding with a cackle, “MWAHAHA! Human! Conceal Your Emotions, They Are Much Too Entertaining. This Moping Is About Mutt, Isn’t It?”</p><p>“Yes,” you grimace, narrowing your eyes at his glee. You’re unsure if he’s glad to see your friendship with his brother fall apart, or if it’s your general suffering that he’s happy to witness. “I upset him and now he’s avoiding me.”</p><p>“You Think This Is About You? HA! This Is About My Cowardly Brother, Nothing More. The Only Running He Does Is From His Responsibilities And He’s Rather Practiced At It. If You Plan On Pursuing Him You Should Keep That In Mind.”</p><p>“What are you saying?”</p><p>“I’m Saying It Isn’t Your Fault He Has Run Away.”</p><p>“Run away??” The seriousness of the situation distracts you from absorbing Black’s uncharacteristically sympathetic statement. You’ve never heard of an adult running away. What does Mutt have to run away from? At his age you doubt it has to do with strict parents and more an overbearing older brother with a mile-wide mean streak.</p><p>“Run Away, Left Home, Disappeared. Gone To Go Waste Half His Income On Drugs And Seedy Motels, More Like.”</p><p>You’re aghast that Black can be so nonchalant about this.</p><p>“Don’t Look At Me That Way, Human. The First Time It Happened I Reacted As You Did (Except Not As Pitifully, It Goes Without Saying). After Many Years Of Dealing With His Disappearances I Have Grown To Expect Them. I Know My Brother Better Than Anyone. He Is Not The Sort Of Monster You Can Rely On. This Is No Trouble To The Malevolent Black, Inner Strength And Independence Are As Easy As Breathing. For A Human Like You, I See How His Inconsistency Can Be Disturbing.”</p><p>“So he’s just…left. And you have no idea where he’s gone or when he’ll be back?”</p><p>“I Have No Desire To Know Where He’s Gone. Such Details Would Only Disgust Me. As To When He Comes Back…It’s Very Likely The Mutt Will Come Crawling Back With His Tail Between His Legs In Less Than Two Weeks. He Will Be Punished For His Insubordination And Life Will Continue As Usual.”</p><p>“And…if he doesn’t come back?”</p><p>“HE WILL!” Black barks, then collects himself, straightening his jacket. “He Always Has. It’s Not In His Nature To Be A Stray, Not For Very Long. The Mutt Always Returns To His Lord.”</p><p>“I envy your certainty,” you sigh. You don’t understand this side of Mutt, this version of him that would abandon his brother, and you, without so much as an explanation.</p><p>Is this a truer reflection of his nature? A selfish monster with a reckless disregard for his relationships? Or have the circumstances and people in his life justifiably pushed him to this extremity?</p><p>There’s another alternative. Black doesn’t know what he does when he leaves. There could be urgent situations that demand his presence, outside of your understanding. It’s difficult to imagine a situation that he couldn’t just <em>tell</em> you about. But, still. You can try to give him the benefit of the doubt.</p><p>“My Certainty Is A Luxury Afforded By Being An Exceptionally Competent Monster.”</p><p>“Hm. I disagree. Not about your competence, or whatever, but that confidence is a direct result of it. There are so many cocksure idiots out there. And an equal number of experts with insecurity.”</p><p>“This Is Exactly What’s Wrong With Your Soft Human Society! Fools Are Spared The Rod, So They Never Learn How Foolish They Are And Correct Themselves! In A Proper Civilization, Strength Is Rewarded And Weakness Is Punished. In Such An Environment, The Fittest Are Allowed To Flourish, The Unfit To Struggle Below. There Is No Doubting Your Place In The World As It Is Explicit And Indisputable.”</p><p>“That’s horrible! Who gets to decide what ‘strength’ is in a society like that? The people already at the top! They’ll enforce their idea of ‘strength’ as the ultimate good and demonize anything they don’t like!”</p><p>The rain picks up and soon your hair becomes heavy with moisture. Rivulets of water run down Black’s skull and disappear into his eye sockets as you debate.</p><p>“Your Mistake Is Thinking That Strength Is Something Nebulous and Debatable. It Isn’t. Strength Is Sure. Unlike Human Ethics And Moral Squabbles, Power Is Impossible To Deny Or Talk Your Way Out Of. There Is No ‘Deciding’ What Strength Is. It Simply <em>Is</em>.”</p><p>“Fine. Let’s assume strength just <em>is</em> or <em>isn’t</em>. Would anyone really be happy in a world where that’s the only consideration, the only value? What about a physically frail genius, or a vulnerable child with a latent potential for leadership? They might not have traditional strength, but you can’t deny society would be better if they weren’t <em>punished</em> just for existing!”</p><p>“It Is Both The Responsibility And The Natural Interest Of The Strong To Become Stronger. If These Weak Individuals Have Something To Offer, The Strong May Extend Protection To Them To Ensure That Benefit Is Attained. This Is The Most Efficient Mode Of Progress.”</p><p>“We’re supposed to trust that the people at the top will take care of us? The weak don’t want your crumbs of decency and goodwill! We want rights and a system that guarantees us an equal playing field with the powerful!”</p><p>“You Willingly Group Yourself In With The Weaklings?”</p><p>“I do,” you refuse to break eye contact, despite the potent urge to look at your feet. It’s a harsh reality but it’s one you must accept. “I’m not physically strong. I’m not rich. I’m not famous or influential. In the kind of world you describe, I’d be the one getting trampled on and left behind.”</p><p>“You Can’t Know That.” Black’s scowl is twisted with discomfort. “One Of The Many Advantages Of A Competitive Civilization Is Its Ability To Steel The Soul In The Fire Of Adversity. You Only Remain Weak If You Refuse To Fight!” his passionate anger morphs into scorn, “Or If The System Coddles You And Keeps You From Any Condition That Could Improve You, In The Name Of ‘Safety’! You Think You Are Being Protected, But You’re Really Being Held Back!”</p><p>While you and Black argue, Wuffie takes advantage of your inattention to pounce on every puddle in sight. The collie loves the cool water against her paw pads and she especially loves masking her scent with layers and layers of mud. She digs up the wet earth to roll in the fresh smells.</p><p>Once satisfied, she sprints back to her two friends to show off the result of her efforts. You both react with an outcry of exasperation and she tilts her head in bepuzzlement.</p><p>“Oh no,” you groan. “We messed up.”</p><p>“’WE’? How Was I Supposed To Know The Beast Had Such Filthy Proclivities?”</p><p>“Because she’s a dog! Look, it doesn’t matter. We need to get her cleaned up. And yes, I said ‘we’ again. We have shared custody so keeping her well-groomed and tidy is your responsibility, too. You’re not getting out of this.”</p><p>“Fine. How Do You Propose We Manage This Mess?” he gestures to happy collie dripping with mud at your feet.</p><p>“I have soap and brushes for her at my place. I’ll drive if you hold onto her, keeping her from spreading the mess everywhere.” At Black’s reluctant expression you put your hands on your hips. “Unless you’d rather drive and risk getting dirt all over your nice car?”</p><p>“No, I Do Not. I Will Cooperate With Your Plan,” he says while looking obviously displeased about it. He reluctantly takes Wuffie into his arms, sullying his clothes. You gather the training supplies and load them into your trunk.</p><p>Feeling smug at seeing a disgruntled Black nearly overwhelmed by the large furry, muddy mass he’s grappling with, you offer a small mercy and open the door for him.</p><p>The struggle only intensifies once you’re on the road. The car’s shoddy air conditioning is slow to heat your soaked and shivering bodies. The metronome of your windshield wipers sets a moderate tempo. The collie is not used to being held and twists and wriggles against the restriction to her movement. Black’s grip is sure, and once Wuffie accepts her state she amuses herself in other ways.</p><p>“I Command You To Stop Licking Me!” Wuffie is slow to listen, lapping the side of his skull leisurely.</p><p>“Do you taste the same as those summoned bone treats you gave her?” you wonder aloud. Maybe she’s developed a penchant for them.</p><p>“How Should I Know? I’ve Never Tasted Them Or Myself!” he answers, disgust evident in his tone.</p><p>“I’ve tasted you,” you recall the first encounter with Black wherein you licked his hand in greeting. “Summon a bone for me to lick and I’ll compare.”</p><p>“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Red blossoms on his cheekbones at the lewd double meaning to your request.</p><p>“Lame. Have it your way, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices for science.” Black finally gets the dog to calm down, rolling down the window. She’s enticed and distracted by the smells even as he gets exposed to the rain and wind. “You know, I only met your brother because Wuffie started chewing on him. She definitely likes you guys.”</p><p>He sighs, “I Only Wish She Would Express Her Fondness In A Less Repulsive Way.”</p><p>“I know. But think of it from her perspective. We pet her, take care of her, and she wants to reciprocate. What else can she do? It’s not like she can pet us back.”</p><p>“I Wouldn’t Want To Be Pet Either. Her Paws Are Just As Unclean As Her Mouth. It Would Be Best If She Showed Her Appreciation By Simply Following Orders And Staying Out Of Trouble.”</p><p>“Unfortunately, dogs don’t work that way. Neither do humans, frankly. Five love languages and not one about obedience.” Black narrows his eyesockets questioningly. “You know, love languages. You’ve never taken one of those quizzes?”</p><p>“Why Would I Take An Absurd Human Quiz?”</p><p>“Fair enough. It’s an oversimplification of a complex subject, but I still think there is some truth to the whole thing. Everyone expresses and receives love in different ways. Some people like spending quality time with their loved ones. Others prefer gifts or words of affirmation.”  You take as long a gander at him as you dare without distracting yourself from the road. “I bet yours is acts of service.”</p><p>“It Would Be Ludicrous To Accept Anything Less Than Servitude. Who Would Choose Mere Words Over Practical And Meaningful Sacrifices?”</p><p>“I would. I’d rather hear an ‘I love you’ than have someone doing me ambiguous favors that might stem from obligation. Plus, words of love don’t cost anything to the person giving them. They’re a win-win.”</p><p>“Love Isn’t About ‘Win-Win’s, That’s Just Hedonistic! And Why Would An Action Stemming From Obligation Be A Deterrent? Relationships Are Founded On Mutual Obligation. This Commitment Intrinsically Implies Accepting Losses And Continuing In Spite Of Them.”</p><p>“Who died and made you the love expert?” you snark, miffed at his blasé dismissal of your preferences.</p><p>“No One Had To Die. I Am Simply Well-Read On The Subject. <em>Achieving Advantageous Matches: A Guide To Dating And Not Getting Dusted While Doing So</em> Is The Book That Has Authority On Such Matters. Since I Am The One Most Acquainted With It, It Follows That I Am The Authority.”</p><p>“This book was popular underground?”</p><p>“Practically Ubiquitous!”</p><p>“Then…has Mutt read it?”</p><p>Black scoffs and rolls his eyelights. “No. My Brother Is Clueless When It Comes To Such Things. He Has No Respect For The Art Of Crafting A Commitment And Only Cares For Chasing Fleeting Flights Of Fancy.”</p><p>“Is that so…” you nibble your lip and pull into the parking lot. It’s clear that with such a stark difference in worldviews about love, Black’s thoughts on Mutt’s romantic inclinations should be taken with a grain of salt. Or many grains of salt. Basically, an entire saltshaker.</p><p>Then again, Mutt did just run off, without a word. You don’t have any commitment with him. No explicit agreement or responsibility. But how are you supposed to trust a monster who does things like this? Certainly not enough to have a romantic or sexual future with them.</p><p>It pisses you off. Things were going so well, and you hate harboring this much doubt inside yourself. He could have prevented all your distress if he’d just<em> picked up his damn phone</em>.</p><p>The car door slams with unnecessary force after you park and turn off your car. You guide Black into your apartment and get the warm water running in the tub, channeling your negative energy into getting this situation taken care of.</p><p>“This Is Your Dwelling…” Black remarks, staying put on the welcome mat for now. The furnishings are modest but well taken care of. The living room is on his left, mirrored by a kitchen of the same size on his right. It looks lived in yet not overly cluttered. No dining room, he notes with distaste. The hallway ahead has two doors he can’t see and ends with a closet. You retrieve dog shampoo and a pile of towels from it, dropping them off on the bathroom counter before returning to him. “It Is Acceptable, I Suppose.”</p><p>“Gee, thanks. Come on, let’s get our puppy in the tub.”</p><p>Black follows you and lowers Wuffie into the water. She seems to accept it, having no love for bath time but knowing she’s outnumbered. With the immersion of her legs and paws the water is already muddied. You both kneel by the tub, personal space all but forgotten as the perimeter of the cramped bathtub is limited.</p><p>“What Is Our Strategy?”</p><p>“Use the shower head to rinse her off. I’ll try to get the tangles out of her fur.”</p><p>It takes several rounds of emptying and refilling the tub to get the water running off the collie’s long fur to come clean. Once it does, you grab the dog shampoo and squeeze some onto your own palm and Black’s carpals.</p><p>“Alright. Let’s suds her up.” This is Wuffie’s favorite part of the loathed process, where two sets of hands lather and pet her thoroughly. Maximum attention! Her tail wags and splashes you both with the soapy water. “ack!” Your clothes are already damp so the dog’s contribution is just icing on the cake.</p><p>You watch as Black holds one of her legs and tenderly cleans between her paws. His glare is absent and in its stead a look of doting determination as he grooms his beast. Wuffie is prone to wiggling but Black’s secure yet gentle grip keeps her steady.</p><p>“You’re kind of good at this,” you admit, surprised considering he’s never done this before.</p><p>“I’m Good At Everything.” he states matter-of-factly. The barest hint of a smile tugs at his teeth.</p><p>“Alright then, Mr. Good-At-Everything. Guess you’ll be helping me brush her teeth and trim her nails today, too.”</p><p>“Her Claws?” he rotates her paw in his hand, inspecting, “Why Must They Be Trimmed?”</p><p>“If they get too long, they’ll get in the way of her walking. Relax, she’ll still be able to scratch up your enemies, or whatever it is you’re worried about.”</p><p>Between the effort of the two of you, it isn’t long before Wuffie is sparkling clean. After a thorough rinse, you both seize on her with towels, hoping to get her dry before the dreaded shake that would drench you even further.</p><p>Her fur gets back to its everyday fluffy majesty and dental hygiene is next on the agenda. You retrieve her chicken flavored toothpaste and load a dollop of it onto her soft-bristled toothbrush. You and Black sit on the floor with Wuffie between you.</p><p>“Hold this.” You give the readied toothbrush to him so both your hands are free you pull up the collie’s lip to massage her gums. She’s more comfortable with your hands in her mouth than the brush so you find it helps to get started this way as a warmup. Her fussiness gets down to a minimum. You expose her teeth and hold her mouth stable, saying “Okay, I’ll keep her steady, go on and brush her teeth.”</p><p>Black presses the bristles against her largest fang and smears the toothpaste around a bit. He then proceeds to run it down the length of her tooth, lifts it up, and repeats, brushing it as if he were combing hair.</p><p>“Uh, Black…you have brushed teeth before, right?”</p><p>“No, Why Would I Have??” he jumps to his own defense, glare back in full force.</p><p>“Seriously? Do skeletons not get cavities?”</p><p>“Unlike <em>Humans</em>, <em>We</em> Do Not Have Trillions Of Microorganisms Living All Over Us, Causing Trouble!”</p><p>“Fine, I get it, no need to brag! Just…scrub her teeth in little circles. When you’re close to the gum, be gentle and tilt the bristle to get underneath it a bit. Don’t forget the backs.”</p><p>He picks it up quickly and though he looks downright unnatural doing it, the job gets done. Wuffie is left with (slightly) better smelling breath.</p><p>“Now for the hard part,” you grumble, getting out the clippers. You lay out one of the used towels on the floor to catch bits of nail. “Hold her still for me.”</p><p>At the sight of the clippers Wuffie gets agitated. She recalls her previous negative experiences with them, of overly hasty groomers making her bleed, and whimpers.</p><p>“You Should Not Be Afraid, Beast,” Black murmurs to her, holding her back against his ribcage and keeping her front legs from squirming. “They Are Smaller Than You. They Will Not Injure You. You Are Tough And Strong.”</p><p>You do your best to harden your heart against Wuffie’s puppy-dog eyes, beseeching you to forget about her nails and instead go cuddle on the couch. The clippers are tentatively positioned up to the first claw a short distance from the end.</p><p><em>Clip</em>.</p><p>The first trim is met with a flinch, but not much trouble.</p><p><em>Clip</em>.</p><p>The next nail is longer and more curved. The whimper returns.</p><p><em>Clip</em>.</p><p>Her sharp yelp shocks you and you drop the clippers, shaking your head, sinking into the floor.</p><p>“I can’t do it. I hate hurting her like this.”</p><p>Black releases Wuffie and she runs off. Incensed, he jams a phalange in your face, yelling, “This Is Your Job! So What If It Hurts? So What If The Dog Whines And Bitches About It? Do You Think You’re A Better Person Just Because You’re Too Soft To Do What Needs To Be Done? It’s <em>Your</em> Responsibility To Do What’s Best In The Long Run Even If He <em>Hates</em> You For It!”</p><p>The rage bleeds from Black’s face as he realizes his mistake.</p><p>“…He?” you ask quietly.</p><p>Black definitely wasn’t talking about Wuffie. He withdraws, eyelights doused and skull leaning back against the bathroom wall. Your fingers fidget with the damp towel on the floor.</p><p>“Look, I…” you take a deep breath, mulling over your words as you know the wrong ones will only push him further away. “I can’t begin to understand your relationship with Mutt. I don’t have any siblings and even if I did, every family is different. I can’t comprehend what you’re going through. But I do know that I—Even knowing Mutt for a little over a month—what he did hurts. Just leaving like that. Again, I can’t imagine how much worse it is for someone who’s know him his entire life. I’m taking it personally. I’m <em>angry</em>. Angry that he’d hurt me. Hurt you. Angry enough that any reason he’d have for leaving wouldn’t matter, right now. I just—I want to punish him.”</p><p>Punishing Mutt is a subject you’d mulled over on occasion, in the likelihood he’d cheat at pool or be an asshole to Blue again. You had some ideas. This situation has more gravitas, but the rough concept is the same.</p><p>“I want to punish him,” you repeat, this time with more belief. “So he’ll never do it again. You said that when he comes back, you’d punish him, and life would go on like normal. I want to help. As long as we don’t physically hurt him, of course.”</p><p>Black’s eyelights reignite, locking onto you with an eerie attentiveness.</p><p>“It’s A Deal,” he says, voice grim with only a fragment of his usual fervor. He pushes himself off the wall. “Now Let Us Finish This.”</p><p>He stands, leaving the bathroom to steal Wuffie from her comfy spot on the couch to return her to the dreaded clippers.</p><p>“You’re right. Let’s get it over with.”</p><p>This time, instead of whispering reassurances to the dog, Black stares you down. His glare overpowers Wuffie’s puppy eyes and you pony up. The rest of her noises of distress fall on caring but resistant ears and you don’t give in to the guilt trip.</p><p>The job is done. You bundle up the dirty towels, catching a look at yourself in the mirror on your way to the washing machine. God, you’re a mess. So is Black, clothing wrinkled, coated in mud and fur. You confront him in the hallway, doing your best to be placating without sounding patronizing, “You should use my shower. I’ll wash your clothes while you’re in there, so you don’t have to drive home like this.”</p><p>“Fine.” he exhales, pulling off his ascot and unbuttoning his jacket. You flip around with a squeak.</p><p>“You don’t have to take off your clothes now! Let me leave the room first then put them outside the door!”</p><p>You make sure he knows where to find the soaps and his clean towel before leaving him be. Not long after, the door opens and deposits a folded pile of his dirty clothes. They are loaded into the washer. You wait until you hear the shower running, then disrobe and throw your own clothes alongside his. The washer is set to cold so he wouldn’t run out of warm water. You pull on a bathrobe, not wanting to change into pajamas until you’ve showered as well.</p><p>The wood floors are scrubbed until the only evidence of the muddy mess is the darkened water in the mop bucket and a sheen of moisture on the wet floor. The cleaning relaxes you somewhat. Your ire towards Mutt has fizzled out into a formless frustration that you’d rather not be left alone with.</p><p>By the time the shower shuts off, the clothes are only just getting into the dryer. You knock on the bathroom door.</p><p>“Hey Black, bad news but—” he opens the door, bones bare but for the towel around his waist. You take each other in. His eyelights look you up and down, from your bathrobe to your socks, and widen in horror. Both your faces are rosy red.</p><p>“Human! This Clothing…Are You Trying To Seduce Me?!” His voice is shrill and strangled.</p><p>“Why did you open the door naked? Are <em>you</em> trying to seduce me?”</p><p>“I Asked First!”</p><p>“No, I’m really not.”</p><p>“Neither Am I!”</p><p>“Then we’ve established there’s no seducing going on,” you rub your forehead. “What I was trying to tell you was, your clothes aren’t dry yet. I can lend you some of mine in the meantime?” Black collects himself and folds his arms over his ribcage.</p><p>“As Unlikely As Your Meager Clothing Is To Meet My Standards, I Acknowledge That Some Lowering Of My Requirements May Be Necessary Due To The Anomalous Circumstances. Show Me My Options.”</p><p>Anything to get this skeleton clothed again, you think. It shouldn’t fluster you. Not with the day you’ve had, not with the kind of monster he is. Yet, it does, and you’re struck by the surrealness of the situation. You’re not wearing much either, sitting on the edge of the bed watching the half-naked Black rifle through your closet.</p><p>“I doubt my jeans will fit you. I have some sweatpants over by my pajamas on the left—”</p><p>“What Is THIS?” he exclaims, pulling out a little black dress, modified with cat ears and tail, paired with thigh-high black socks that had toe beans on the bottom.</p><p>“Last year’s Halloween costume. Don’t judge me.”</p><p>“Already Judged. Don’t Wear This Around Mutt,” he warns, shoving it into the deepest part of your closet. He finds a pair of plain black sweatpants and one of your baggier band tee shirts. “This Will Be Adequate.”</p><p>“Good. You can get dressed while I’m in the shower, then I’ll drive you back to your car.”</p><p>The shower does wonders for you. The steam warms you from the inside as you breath it in. You get a twisted sense of accomplishment at the sheer volume of dirt you see swirl down the drain.</p><p>You step out of the bathroom feeling fresh and warm in your tank top and pajama bottoms. Black is in the living room, perusing your bookshelf. Outside of his usual uniform, he looks all too casual. Domestic, even.</p><p>A rush of affection hits you out of nowhere. <em>He looks really cute in my clothes.</em></p><p>“Have Something To Say, Human?”</p><p>“Yeah, uh…” <em>don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it</em>. He just gets upset when you call him cute. Your hosting instincts kick in while you’re drawing a blank and “Do you want to stay for dinner?” slips out instead. It surprises you a bit yet you don’t regret it. You don’t want to be alone right now, and Black has been relatively amiable today. Your worries of him treating you worse with Mutt gone were unfounded. “I was planning on making gnocchi.”</p><p>“I’ll Stay Only If I Can Participate. I Must Assure The Texture Is Up To Par.”</p><p>So, he stays for dinner. And a movie. And another movie, because the first one was ‘Bad Enough To Make My Eyes Bleed Even Though I Possess Neither Eyes Nor Blood’ and it had be followed with a more quality film. At this point it’s late enough that you just say fuck it and offer for him to stay the night.</p><p>Such were the events that led to Black staring at the back of your couch, skull sinking into one of your pillows, exhausted yet too provoked to sleep. Wuffie elected to sleep on his fibulas so he is unable to pace as his restless legs urge him to. Your scent swirls around him, surrounds him. It seeps from the clothes he’s wearing, the blanket he’s covered with, even the soap he’d used on his bones smells like you.</p><p>It’s that, and <em>only</em> that, Black is sure, that has his thoughts stuck on you.</p><p>The world he advocates for, the rigid and violent underground he comes from, how would it have handled you?</p><p>Execution would’ve been nearly inevitable. A quick death followed by a confiscation of your soul for consumption or breaking the barrier. Nevertheless, he shouldn’t underestimate the power of human souls. If you’d managed to survive the initial wave of attacks and gain EXP…then the question would become not what the underground would do to you, but what you would do to the underground.</p><p>If you grew to be a formidable opponent, he would’ve considered allying with you. Perhaps he may’ve even helped you kill the queen if that’s your intention. Black’s loyalty to the crown was conditional to its usefulness and if Toriel’s reign became irrelevant he wouldn’t hesitate to toss it to the side.</p><p>‘<em>Horrible’</em>, you’d called it. <em>‘would anyone really be happy?’</em></p><p>Black was. Beyond the cruelty of its inhabitants, the underground had structure. A hierarchy. A sound internal logic. <em>It made sense</em>.</p><p>Here, the laws and customs range from mildly annoying to insultingly absurd. On paper, his position in society hasn’t changed much. In practice he’s living in an entirely alien reality.</p><p>When he appeared on the surface, he’d reclaimed his status as Captain of the Royal Guard, crawling his way up the ranks with a disciplined ferocity that’d impressed his co-captain, Undyne. Not the scheming, stuttering, Undyne of his own universe, but a look alike with formidable strength and convictions.</p><p>Strength and convictions that amount to very little against the lily-livered bureacrats’ red tape. The human government prevents the captains from filling their purpose—eliminating threats to monsterkind and their way of life. The Royal Guard is kept busy with bomb threats to the embassy, assaults on monster civilians, and scrubbing clean the reams of anti-monster filth that reside in the city. And yet, while hate groups openly call for his species’ genocide, Black can’t do anything.</p><p>He isn’t <em>permitted</em> to address the threat until the dust of innocent monsters has already settled.</p><p>
  <em>Foolishness!</em>
</p><p>The Royal Guard here is not a force of justice. It is a mere prop to pacify the masses, an act in a broader play of false order that Black has no desire to perform in. It’s the access to privileged information that keeps him invested in his position. He must keep himself informed on his enemies even if acting on that knowledge might lose him his freedom.</p><p>Mutt doesn’t get it. He may intellectually understand the futility of Black’s political position, but he can’t comprehend the agony of being unable to act as he has always <em>preferred</em> doing nothing.</p><p>Black’s lazy younger brother has only been spoiled by the transition to this universe. The surface’s relative safety has afforded him a longer leash. A leniency that has only been abused by ever-increasing recklessness.</p><p>A recklessness that Black fears will lead to Papyrus’ premature dusting. Whether your presence in Papyrus’ life is edifying or corrupting is unsure. What he can acknowledge is that his brother is less likely to engage in high-risk behaviors while you’re around. This is enough for him to ignore Mutt’s unsavory human fetish and take steps in ensuring you stay.</p><p>Steps such as tolerating your defiance towards him and not allowing Mutt’s carelessness to scare you off. When you’d appeared in front of him in that <em>improprietous</em> robe, only barely hanging on to your shoulders, the tie in a single loose bow… Black worried he’d taken his tolerance too far and given you the impression he’s open to your courtship.</p><p>It’s expected, he supposes, to be interested in the brother with proper strength and standing. However, he, the Malevolent Black? With a human? He must take additional steps to ensure the ridiculousness of this is made apparent to you when you drive him back to his car tomorrow morning. Undeniably, he’d neglected to respect the pertinent social disparity between you tonight. The lapse in formality is the result of the atypical day, nothing more. He’d forgive himself the indiscretion and remember this as an exception. An exception that had gone…not horribly.</p><p>When Black finally slips into unconsciousness, there’s definitely <em>not</em> a small, satisfied smile on his skull.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Loooong ass chapter.<br/>Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt. Just a pinch of Black’s perspective, more to come.</p><p>The dating manual in Fellswap’s universe is…special. Relevant excerpt:<br/>Achieving Advantageous Matches: A Guide To Dating And Not Getting Dusted While Doing So<br/>Section 5: Clothing [Subsection E, Clothes Of Seduction]<br/>…Much unlike the grandiose armor needed for a First Impression, the attire of a seducer will be suggestive not of power and high standing, but a scandalous lack of practicality. Low-Use fabrics such as lace, silk, and chiffon are ideal. They will do little to protect against attacks or the elements of the underground. This impracticality is a gesture of trust to your potential mate.<br/>The particularly shameless seducer will allow an alluring air of vulnerability. This affect is attained and measured by how apt the clothing is to come off. Simple zippers, strings, and ties are a necessity. Loose clothing, when already falling off the body, signals sexual receptiveness and a respect for the potential mate’s time, as to not waste it removing layers and layers…</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That night, Black dreams of the underground. You fall in, emerging from the ruins bruised and coated in Asgore’s dust. Mutt does his sentry job, for once, and discovers you. He takes a liking to you and brings you to their manor. You kneel before Black in the great hall. It’s his verdict. As head of household, he gets to decide whether you get to stay, whether you’re worth the liability of harboring under Toriel’s nose. Whether you live or die. The risk is great. To be discovered would mean going into open rebellion. Is it worth risking the family for Mutt’s whims? For keeping your soul out of the royalty’s claws?</p>
<p>There’s no logic to the dream. No deliberation. Only the sharp image of his collar around your lovely neck, burned into his mind. Black has no time to dwell on it as a clatter startles him out of slumber and demands his immediate attention. It sounded like it’d come from the kitchen. It was negligent of him to not secure the perimeter of this unsafe dwelling before falling unconscious. Now what could be an intruder has slipped past his guard. Where is the beast in all this? She has been trained to alert him when a stranger enters his territory.</p>
<p>Black rises from the couch, allowing the blankets to crumple to the floor. The dog in question is carefree as can be, chewing on something in the middle of the hallway. Prying her mouth open, he sees that it’s a small bone treat. His brow bones furrow. Is the beast being bribed into silence? Or has the dog merely stashed a plethora of treats in reserve for—he checks the digital time display on your oven—four thirty in the morning snacks? Disregarding it for now, he investigates every corner of your apartment. Nothing is amiss. If there was an intruder, Black must’ve frightened them off.</p>
<p>“Human!” he raps his fist on your bedroom door, “We Must Discuss The Security Of Your Dwelling!”</p>
<p>No response. Slothful Y/N, still slumbering away at this hour. He opens the door and throws off your covers.</p>
<p>“Wake Up. There Are Matters That Require Your Attention.”</p>
<p>You fluster as you’re woken a pair of crimson eyelights glowing in the darkness of your bedroom.</p>
<p>“Why is my sleep paralysis demon waking me up?!” you squeal and scurry for the cover of blankets.</p>
<p>“It Is The Malevolent Black, Not A Demon Of Paralysis,” He rolls his eyelights and stands at the foot of your bed while your eyes adjust to make out the faint reflection of light off his bones.</p>
<p>“Black…? Ugh, why are you waking me up this early? It better be pretty fucking important.” Your voice is husky with sleep.</p>
<p>“Early? Human, It Is Morning Already!”</p>
<p>“It’s not morning until the sun’s up, everyone knows that,” you grumble, shutting your eyes and letting your head fall back onto your pillow.</p>
<p>“Preposterous!” Black, having much experience in waking up his lazy brother, recognizes your behavior and takes measures to prevent you from falling back asleep. He snatches your pillow and tosses it across the room. You make a betrayed groan and throw up an arm to cover your eyes. “This Resistance Is Doing Nothing But Delaying The Inevitable!”</p>
<p>“You’re right, fine, fine, I’ll get up. Hey, what’s that!” you sit up and point across the room dramatically.</p>
<p>“What—” when his back is turned you throw the pile of blankets onto him and take advantage of his confusion, tackling him onto the bed. This technique is not one his brother has prepared him for. His arms are tucked snugly against his sides in the confines of the comforter. He could break out but not without damaging your property. Once his head escapes through a gap in the blankets he faces you above him, sleepy and smug. “How Dare You—”</p>
<p>“Shhhhhhh.” you press a finger to his teeth and he briefly considers biting it, “shhhut up. Go back to sleep.” You roll off him and collapse on your side of the bed, closing your eyes with a contented sigh.</p>
<p>Black seethes in his blanket burrito. The <em>audacity</em> of this human. You didn’t even stay awake long enough to hear his proposal to increase security measures. What does he care, anyway? If you’re truly so lax in your defenses, you deserve to have looters steal your possessions. While miffed at your unreasonableness, a modicum of satisfaction thrums in his bones as your temporary incapacitation of him has proved his intuitions correct. You are more capable than you claim to be. Though you would not stand against him in a proper duel, your deceitful tactics are admirable for a sleep-addled mind. They demonstrate a sort of slippery, sneaky, situational strength. It is inferior to his own, of course, but it is a strength in its own right.</p>
<p>Perhaps it’s those abilities that inspired his dream-self to allow you into his family. Black gives no superstitious credence to his dreams. They are a tool his mind uses to explore possibilities and unpack subconscious workings. It produced a mental image of you collared by him not due to any depravity of his own but because of his complex thoughts towards Mutt’s relationship with you and the directions it could lead. It’s only rational. Mutt has never shown any prolonged interest in companionship previously. This new development has forced Black to anticipate the possibility of his family expanding. Growth is a sign of strength. A thing to be celebrated. But to grow in the wrong direction is a grave concern. An erroneous change in family composition could compromise its structure, destroy what he’s worked tirelessly to protect.</p>
<p>It’s an issue his mind has been chewing on for the past few weeks and will need to keep gnawing away at so he will be prepared to give an answer when the time comes for his brother to ask. He would not be getting any more sleep this morning. He wrestles with his thoughts, stewing on the interminable prospects and hazards in his future. The monster he’d imagined Mutt might bring home one day, because he’d never dared assume it might be a human, is one of a similar character to his brother. Directionless, undisciplined, and endlessly enabling. Intelligent, but harnessing that intellect only for witticisms and avoidance of responsibility.</p>
<p>His skull turns to you, facing away from him, your soft and steady breaths creating a soothing rhythm in the background of his awareness. You’re a long way off from that imagined monster. While not overly ambitious, you have a chosen path and direction in life. Discipline is not your strong suit, however, at the very least you function sufficiently without any external prompting. That’s not to say he’s ecstatic with your prospects. You’re not an ideal match for Mutt, either. The mate Black would’ve picked for him, if he’d allowed his brother to arrange such a thing, would’ve been formidable. Steel-willed, sharp-witted, and appropriately powerful. Not so different from Black himself.</p>
<p>You’re a long way off from that, as well. As you’d admitted yesterday in the rain, you have no authority in the world. Your wealth is meager. There would be no material advantage in an alliance with you. As to your character, it’s too soon for Black to say. He knows how you act day to day, a shallow cognizance of your personality by spending time with you. A true assessment of your character can only be realized if you’re pushed to your limits. Likely it will prove unnecessary for him to produce these trials himself, as life tends to send them frequently without any additional prompting on his part.</p>
<p>Your physical strength is a concern. As a human, your soul possesses enviable intrinsic strength, but your body’s abilities and combat knowledge are sorely lacking. Perhaps if your relationship with Mutt progresses enough, he’d take it upon himself to train you. That’s right, he reminds himself. He’s being premature. You and Mutt are merely ‘friends’. He exhales through his nasal cavity. A frivolous, formless social connection with no structure to speak of, that the surface society seems to adore. These thoughts can be postponed until the connection has solidified. And in order for that to happen, his brother needs to return.Black grits his teeth. He knows that if his brother is alive, he will return eventually. But if that reckless lazybones gets himself dusted—</p>
<p>A hand, weak with sleep, tugs at his blanket prison. You’ve turned to him, unconsciously seeking warmth, your grip failing to find purchase on the layers secured snugly around his body. <em>This Is Your Own Doing, Human. These Blankets Are The Cost Of Your Trickery This Morning. </em>He holds no pity for your shivering form. Your pillowless head. It’s not until your hands continue their efforts, searching and grabbing over his form, that he wiggles an arm out of the burrito to peel the topmost blanket from his pile. He places it over your shoulders. Your fussing is abated. You settle in again, snuggling against the corner of the covers. Black senses a strange pressure around the surface of his soul. He’s reminded of the outlandishly named ‘heart-hug’ you’d attempted to convince him of. This vulnerability…sleeping right next to him…is this what it’d be like if you joined his family?</p>
<p>No, he corrects himself, you’d be sleeping in Mutt’s bed, not his. At least most of the time. According to Achieving Advantageous Matches, it isn’t unheard of to—He smacks his skull with his free hand. <em>Not</em> dwelling on such irrelevancies. What was he thinking about before? Ah, right. If his useless, irresponsible brother gets himself dusted, Black will never see or hear of him ever again. The pressure around his soul surface dissolves into raw dread sinking its tendrils into its pith. Human law enforcement is inexcusably incompetent at identifying monster remains. The problem is even worse outside the country and he can’t guarantee Mutt isn’t. Every day, he’s forced to question if Mutt’s not back yet because he’s adding another day to his ‘vacation’, or if it’s because his remains are scattered in the back of some abandoned crack house.</p>
<p>It’s excruciating. And to make it worse, nigh unforgivable, it’s entirely needless. Mutt has his phone. He has his shortcutting abilities. It would be effortless for him to contact Black during his escapades, to take an instant from his revelry to tell his brother that he’s still alive. This time, Black’s well and truly sick of it. The punishment will be severe. With your assistance, it’ll be different this time. He’s beyond caring if the two of you hate him afterwards. He will make Mutt see the error of his ways. He mires over the plan, ironing out the details and inevitabilities of the punishment. By the time you rouse, he’s all too ready for his brother’s return.</p>
<p>You yawn and stretch, basking in the rays of sunlight straining in from the blinds. When you turn to him, you appear surprised. “You’re still here?”</p>
<p>Black scoffs, sitting up and spouting belligerently, “Yes, I’m Still Here! Where The Hell Would I Go? You Haven’t Driven Me Back To My Car!”</p>
<p>“Right…” you have the decency to look embarrassed. “Let’s get dressed, grab breakfast, and I’ll get you back on your grind.”</p>
<p>“Hmph.” Black pries himself from the blankets and retrieves his uniform from the dryer. Considering your reaction to his nudity last night, he wisely decides to change in the bathroom.</p>
<p>Once you’re both readied for the day you share a small meal of fresh fruit with cereal and Black stands readied by the door, impatient to return to normalcy. When you head to the hallway instead of the exit, he complains, “What Now? You’d Better Not Be Going Back To Sleep!”</p>
<p>“I’m gonna brush my teeth. Do you want to try it? It’s not all that fun, but it’s nice to start the morning with a minty mouth.”</p>
<p>That may prove marginally more productive than waiting. It would behoove him to be practiced at his brushing abilities before the next time Wuffie requires it. “I Will Try And Succeed.”</p>
<p>You’re pleased by his answer, grinning as you unwrap a toothbrush from its plastic and cardboard packaging. “Here, a fresh one from my dentist. One that doesn’t have human cooties all over it.”</p>
<p>Your toothbrush is noticeably more worn down and he’s pleased you had the good sense to offer him the finer option. Once they are both wetted and dotted with a decidedly unappetizing glob of minty paste, you begin brushing. He observes your technique in the mirror and copies it, making improvements where he sees you’re slacking. He notices you sneaking peeps at his sharp incisors and openly gawking as he brushes his summoned tongue. You brush shoulders with him to step forward and spit into the sink. He mimics the admittedly repulsive behavior and your curiosity comes to a head.</p>
<p>“Is that blood or is your spit red?!”</p>
<p>“It Is My Magic, Of Course It Is Red.”</p>
<p>The liquid dissolves before it makes it fully down the drain.</p>
<p>“And it just evaporates?”</p>
<p>“Clearly.”</p>
<p>“So…if you ever spit on someone would you have to worry about it disappearing before it could even land on them?”</p>
<p>“Why Would I Spit On Someone When I Could Spear A Bone Through Their Eye?”</p>
<p>“Psh. No need to be so over the top. Sometimes you just need to spit on someone. Unless…you can’t?” you look at him with mock sympathy and he snorts.</p>
<p>“I Can Spit As Well As I Please. Anyone With Adequate Control Over Their Magic Could Will It To Not Dissipate Until It’s Landed On Its Intended Target.”</p>
<p>You turn off the lights, locking up the house before you head to the parking lot.</p>
<p>“Not sure it would be all that spiteful if it just disappears when you lose focus. Bet it’s not even as gross as human saliva. Frou-frou monster magic probably tastes like skittles and rainbows. Not very insulting to get a face-full of.”</p>
<p>“What Does The Taste Of It Matter? No One Spits Directly Into Their Enemies’ Mouths. I Am Starting To Believe You Have An Unhealthy Fixation With Tasting My Magic.”</p>
<p>“I, Uh—No!” you fumble to defend yourself, “The taste matters because of the grossness factor! Even if you don’t taste it, knowing something tastes bad makes it grosser to have on you!”</p>
<p>“Human,” Black grins wickedly, knowing you’re just scrambling at this point, “Let’s Assume My Magic Tastes Like ‘Skittles’ And Rainbows. Does This Make It Perfectly Friendly And Acceptable To Spit On You At Any Time?”</p>
<p>By the downright demonic energy emanating from him, daring you to say yes, you gather that he’d absolutely call your bluff. Folding, you sigh, “Fine. I admit you’re just as good at spitting on your enemies as a human is. Get in the car, spitmaster.”</p>
<p>Your admission of his victory overpowers his outrage at the ludicrous nickname and he haughtily settles into shotgun. The morning news plays on the radio. It’s more of the usual. Protests, shootings. Protesting shootings and shooting protesters. The bleak broadcast noticeably dims your mood as you drive him back to the park.</p>
<p>After a while of drumming your fingers against the steering wheel and you turn off the stereo. “Could we train Wuffie to track Mutt’s scent? Sniff him out?”</p>
<p>“Perhaps The Beast Could Follow His Trail, To A Point. Once He Takes A ‘Shortcut’, However, Scent-Tracking Will Become Useless.”</p>
<p>“Right,” you sigh, “He can fucking teleport. Makes things rather difficult, doesn’t it.”</p>
<p>“Indeed. Once I Succeeded In Tracking Him Down, Only For Him To Immediately Disappear Again. Trying To Find Him Is Fruitless When He Doesn’t Want To Be Found.”</p>
<p>The experience is not one he’d care to repeat. It’d been Mutt’s first disappearance on the surface. While there’s more ground to cover here, there’s also more clues, more traceable technology. He’d tracked credit card purchases, harassed suspect establishments for their guest lists, and committed several ethical violations with his access to police cameras. It took hours and days of skull-scratching, teeth-grinding work. And what did it get him? One word. One word before Mutt blipped off again.</p>
<p><em>don’t</em>.</p>
<p>It echoed through Black’s mind, stinging and biting. Each time he’d get the urge to reach out to his brother, those words spurn and snap at his outstretched arm. He’s forced to recoil. The urge eventually faded, constantly quelled and rebuffed. Any healthy response to his only family member cowed into a corner by a constant—<em>don’t</em>.</p>
<p>DON’T.</p>
<p>He doesn’t.</p>
<p>Not anymore.</p>
<p>Not like he used to.</p>
<p>The tires crunch over wet gravel as you pull up to the parking lot. You say your goodbyes and he lingers, watching your car disappear into the distance.</p>
<p>The earth is heavy with rain. Black’s footfalls squish into the damp soil on the way to his vehicle and he gets the feeling he’s sinking into the ground. Sinking, sinking, until he’s back underground. Back to where things made sense. Back to where Mutt’s behavior could be excused by his youth. By his circumstance. By anything but his own cancerous apathy. A cancer Black worries could run in the family. But he won’t let that stop him. It takes more than <em>that</em> to keep him from fulfilling his oaths and obligations. Even while his soul spikes with resentment, his loyalties are steeled. Fortified. Spite only strengthens him. And now…</p>
<p>He’s strong enough to do what needs to be done.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter got chonky so I split it in two. I swear to god I didn’t go into this thinking I’d be writing these two arguing about their spitting abilities and getting angsty in cars but here we are.<br/>The next one’s already written and will be out soon.<br/>Brushing your teeth with Black is 0.26th base<br/>Letting him spit on you with his skittle-tasting magic? 15th base. Didn’t happen but almost. You know you thought about it.<br/>Or were you thinking about that conversation’s implications on other types of liquid magic? How naughty of you, reader. I was very close to making a facial joke but decided to give poor Black a break from the innuendos.<br/>That’s actually untrue as I have no mercy and he deserves all the accidental innuendos. However, canonically reader isn’t too informed about the intricacies of skele-sex yet so you couldn’t be the one to joke about it. Ah to be young and innocent.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A week has come and gone since you found out Mutt ran away. Since then, you’ve achieved some sense of clarity. An emotional distance from the hurt.</p>
<p>It’d made you think. Why did it hurt so much, despite not knowing him very long? You’d realized that most of your other friends, the ones you’ve had since childhood, they…well, you’d grown apart. They were getting married, having kids. That meant they had less time for you. Since it’d happened gradually, you’d become acclimated to less and less frequent hangouts.</p>
<p>When Mutt came along, you were swept up in the excitement of a new connection. More important than the novelty of it was that he’d made time for you. After your extended friendship “dry spell”, the two of you were spending time together every week, sometimes multiple times a week. Granted, he works from home, has no dependents, and chooses his own hours. It’s a lot easier for him to make time than it might be for your other friends, but it still means something.</p>
<p>It means you relied on him more than you thought. You were left feeling isolated without him. To combat your isolation, you branched out. Invited Fang over for a homecooked meal to show your gratitude. Convinced Axe to stay on as your massage test subject and to try edibles. You’d even hung out with Blueberry for the first time, having a blast at a local laser tag place. He’d beaten you, unsurprisingly considering his guard training, but was exceedingly sportsmanlike about it.</p>
<p>You’re not sure if befriending the cousins of the monster who upset you in the first place counts as branching out, but oh well. It’s helped. Helped to a point. Your loneliness is only a part of the problem. Your worry is much trickier to get rid of. Where is Mutt? Is he safe? Is he coming back soon, as Black insists?</p>
<p>These thoughts circle like vultures in your mind you as you recline on the couch, one hand gripping the book you’re failing at focusing on, the other scratching behind Wuffie’s ears. This is awful. There has to be something you can do. But what? You’d texted, called, told Black to let you know immediately if he’s seen in the lodge. There’s no reaching him. Or that’s what it feels like. In a practical sense it’s probable Mutt is reachable and has his phone with him. So, he’s seeing your messages and ignoring them. What could you say to get a response out of him?</p>
<p>…</p>
<p><em>Not anything lewd</em>, you think, rolling your eyes at the first thought that pops into your head. <em>Though that would probably work. </em>No, you’d have to lure him out some other way. What works as Mutt-bait? You know he likes monster whiskey, maybe a little too much. He likes video games and greasy foods. And barbeque if his hickory aroma is anything to go by. There’s a smattering of illicit substances he’s claimed a craving for, but you don’t feel comfortable using drugs as bait. Besides, if Black is to be believed, he’s already helping himself to all that on his own. What can you offer that he doesn’t already have? Only your company, you suppose, meager as it is.</p>
<p>Decided, you pull on your shoes, clinging to your measly hope. Your previous texts had all been demanding information or explanation. All unanswered. If it’s just an open invitation…you imagine there’s a tiny chance he’d respond to it. You climb the stairs to the roof of your apartment building. A neutral, secluded location where he could easily come and go.</p>
<p>You: I’m on my roof top. I’ll be here for a while. It would mean a lot if you would show up, just so I know you’re still alive. (p.s. I have a bottle of wine with me if that sweetens the deal)</p>
<p>Tucking away your phone, you lean on the concrete barrier and wait. The sun has long since set. Your apartment might not be in the best part of town, but the view is nothing to sneeze at. The city lights glow like embers. A frigid breeze gusts the urban smog towards you and your nose crinkles in disgust. This part of city living you could do without, but until a large population doesn’t come with an equally large supply of cars stinking up the roads, you’d just have to deal with it. You shiver against the night air, pulling your jacket closer. The wine helps numb you to the cold and you nurse the bottle until a nice buzz sets in. The time passes you quickly, in a reverie. The cars below you move in predictable, random, and mesmerizing patterns. Occasionally a honk or shout from an argument below reaches your ears.</p>
<p>A pair of bony arms wrap around your middle. You gasp and struggle against the sudden hold until you recognize the long, slender phalanges splayed over your waist. “Mutt…” you cease squirming for a moment, “Let me turn around so I can see you,”</p>
<p>“can’t see me. ‘m not here.” his obstinance isn’t enough to deny you the relief of hearing his voice again.</p>
<p>“You dork! If you won’t let me see you, you’ve got to tell me something only Mutt would know. Need to be sure you’re not his evil twin with an identical voice.”</p>
<p>“i am the evil twin.” mirth fills his rumbling timbre. “‘ere to steal you ‘n the wine away.”</p>
<p>All light vanishes. For a moment, you’re surrounded by nothing, anchored only by Mutt’s presence behind you. In a flash, the brightness returns. You blink, disoriented and shivering. You’re back in your living room, seated in between Mutt’s legs on the couch. You’d teleported. It wasn’t as fun as you’d imagined it to be from the comic books and movies. It was sort of unpleasant. Jarring.</p>
<p>Wuffie zooms over to you, tail wagging, undisturbed by your unusual manner of returning home, simply excited you’re back. She leaps onto your lap and both of you spoil her with pets. “If you’re Mutt’s evil twin, why isn’t Wuffie afraid of you?”</p>
<p>“tha’s not wuffie. replaced ‘er with wuff’s evil twin…wulfie.”</p>
<p>“Wulfie?” you repeat, and her collie’s head pops up, waiting for a command. “Damn, guess you’re right. Downright devious of you. This Wulfie doesn’t seem too wicked, though.”</p>
<p>“jus’ wait til you get on ‘er bad side. pure evil,” Mutt insists, even as the collie in question enthusiastically laps at his hand bones.</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m sure.” you snicker and lean back against his ribcage, head resting comfortably into the floof of his coat. “And what am I supposed to call you, evil twin? Mr. Bad-To-The-Bone?”</p>
<p>You can feel the vibrations in his chest as he murmurs, “papyrus,” his teeth brushing the shell of your ear.</p>
<p>“Papyrus…” he shudders behind you. “That’s not a very villainous sounding name.” It takes a moment, but you recognize the scent on his breath and huff, “You’re already drunk, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“guilty,” Mutt admits, sounding anything but. His hand raises to play with your hair, combing it through his phalanges and twirling it about.</p>
<p>“You’re lucky, you know that? Most people have a lot harder time getting transportation while drunk. No need for a designated driver when you can just teleport. Unless…is there? Are there complications with teleporting under the influence?”</p>
<p>“mus’ be. meant fer us to end up in yer bed.”</p>
<p>“Papyrus, you sly dog. I knew you’d be just as flirtatious as your twin.” you tilt your head up to sneak a peek at him, but his skull comes to weigh on top of yours, rendering you stuck and wholly nestled into him. “I bet you don’t want me to see you because you got a hideous face tattoo. Like Chinese characters that you thought would say ‘no regrets’ but actually mean ‘dumb meanie monster,” you tease spitefully.</p>
<p>“no tattooin’ bone, darlin.”</p>
<p>“I guess there’s only one other option, then.” you slump in resignation. “You’re hurt. You’re injured and you don’t want me to see.”</p>
<p>Mutt doesn’t respond, only pulling you closer against him until his ribcage begins to dig into your spine sorely.</p>
<p>“Fine. I won’t push it. I’m just glad you’re here and in one piece.” you sigh, pulling his arms away from your hair to hug them against you. His avoidance of serious subjects is no less frustrating for being expected. The negative emotions are dwarfed by relief at the alleviation of your doubt and anxiety. You’re excited to share this relief with Black, who’s still suffering from Mutt’s absence, alone. “You’ve missed some fun times while you were gone. I got Black to help me bathe Wuffie.”</p>
<p>A hum of interest reverberates in his bones.</p>
<p>“Yeah. He helped me make gnocchi and we watched Apocalypse Now.”</p>
<p>“lookin’ after m’lord while i’m away, hm?” his hands wander down your arms.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t say that,” you deny abashedly. “If anything, he was looking after me. As odd as that is to say.”</p>
<p>Mutt pauses and lights up a dog treat, much to your chagrin. You’d need to air out the house later.</p>
<p>“things were different underground. didn’t ‘ave silly rules against sharin’. between siblings, it’s encouraged. makes alliances more stable, they’d say.”</p>
<p>“Wha-What the hell are you talking about?”</p>
<p>“you n’ m’lord. if you wannna fuck ‘im i won’t be mad. just don’t leave me out.”</p>
<p>“Don’t just say shit like that you—!” You jab him with your elbow, face hotter than a sunburn. “You can’t go around giving me permission to fuck your brother just because we had dinner!”</p>
<p>Mutt shrugs. The worst part is that its not even the booze loosening his tongue. This shameless skeleton probably would’ve said the same stone sober. This ‘they’ he mentioned. Could he be referencing that dating book Black had told you about? You try and picture a stoic Black carefully studying and supporting a manual that advocates for <em>sharing between siblings</em> because it <em>makes alliances more stable</em>. Is that something on his mind, whenever Mutt dates someone? That it’d be better if he…if you…</p>
<p>You shake your head madly, willing your blush to cool down. That piece of information isn’t relevant because you and Mutt aren’t dating. There’s no ‘alliance’ to strengthen. You’re friends. And until a day comes where you’re more than friends you refuse to process this ‘sharing’ business. “I need more wine.” You complain, attempting and failing to raise yourself from Mutt’s grip.</p>
<p>“’ll get it. top cupboard?” A nod.</p>
<p>The fresh bottle levitates into the living room surrounded by a blood-orange aura. He snatches it from the air and rips off the top with his teeth. He takes a swig himself before handing it down to you.</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you could do that,” awe inspiring a reprieve from your mortification. “You can teleport AND you have the force. Some monsters have it all. Seems a bit unfair, honestly.”</p>
<p>“nothing’s fair. stopped expecting it to be.” He says this with the same placid tone as when he’d told you that you could bang his brother. His mood is inscrutable, especially when you can’t see his face.</p>
<p>“Expect nothing and you’ll never be disappointed, is that it?”</p>
<p>Mutt grunts in affirmation.</p>
<p>“Understandable, I suppose. But what about situations where your expectations have the power to change things?”</p>
<p>A huff of amusement tickles your hair. “you don’t believe that ‘attitude’s everythin’ bull. do you, darlin’?”</p>
<p>“Not exactly. If you interpret that saying as ‘an optimistic attitude will solve everything’, no, I don’t believe that. If you interpret it as ‘perception is everything’ and acknowledge that our perception and awareness of the world around us have the power to shape our experiences, then yeah, I agree.” You wet your mouth with wine and continue, “Choosing to see and respond to the world in a way that makes things better for yourself and others. That’s what I think optimism means.”</p>
<p>“pretty words, but that ‘makes things better for yourself and others’ bit is where you’ll get into trouble. ‘s up to interpretation. you don’t think there’s situations where being unhappy is the right thing?”</p>
<p>“Like what?” Your head tilts.</p>
<p>“say there’s a tragedy. a bloke sees somebody gettin’ hit by a car. he gets a kick out of it. thinks it’s funny. now, he didn’t cause it. doesn’t tell anybody. nobody wants to hear what this sicko has to say, right? so he’s made the most out of a shitty thing by being happy ‘cause of it and since he’s keeping it to ‘imself, there’s no ‘arm by it. that sound like proper optimism to you?”</p>
<p>“Oh.” Your face twists. “You’ve got a point. I’d like to believe that’s the exception, not the rule. An exception because…the sort of person that can get happy from seeing other people’s suffering is an anomaly. Most people have empathy. They’ll want what’s best for everyone, at least in the abstract. For those people, being optimistic won’t lead to laughing at car crashes.”</p>
<p>“isn’t your point that people can control their perception? those people can choose to enjoy it if they’re inclined to. there’s nothin’ stoppin’ ‘em. if there’s going to be car crashes, and sickness, and violence, why not get a kick out of it?”</p>
<p>It’s an uncomfortable thought. Instinctively, you know there’s a reason. There <em>must</em> be a reason why that would be bad. You give yourself a moment to find the words to explain it.</p>
<p>“In a perfect world where humans were less selfish…that would be okay. But we’re not in a perfect world. And if suffering makes people happy then people will create more suffering so they can be happier.”</p>
<p>“or, people can choose to be happier on their own, with their magical optimism powers.”</p>
<p>“You ass.” you scold his snark. “So it’s not that simple. So it’s actually really fucking complicated. We should still <em>try</em>.”</p>
<p>“mm. maybe later.” Mutt noncommittally concludes the discussion. You snort.</p>
<p>“Yeah, alright. <em>Don’t</em> try. We’ll see how far that gets you in mario kart.”</p>
<p>When he tries to protest your choice of game you remind him that he owes you for disappearing out of nowhere. Impishly, he retrieves the controllers for you, floating them into your lap.  It’s an unexpectedly cozy gaming set up. Mutt’s arms circle around you to hold the controller over your legs while yours is shortly behind.</p>
<p>“One sec,” you halt at the stage selection screen, retrieving your phone from your jacket pocket, “I need to text Black and let him know you’re okay.”</p>
<p>Sharp phalanges catch your wrists. You test his grip and fail to budge him a millimeter, painfully straining your arms in the process. “can’t let you do that.”</p>
<p>“Why? What possible reason could you have for blocking him out like this?” old anger rekindles at his irrationality.</p>
<p>“’m not here,” he reiterates his remark from the rooftop, “can’t tell ‘im i’m here. i’m not.”</p>
<p>“You—”</p>
<p>Mutt vanishes, leaving behind nothing but bruises and sickly-sweet smoke.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This fic but every time reader has a philosophical conversation with a skeleton it gets angstier.<br/>Reader: optimistm :3<br/>Mutt: ok sadism’s cool then? &gt;:3<br/>Reader: *hits him with newspaper* Boo. Get blue-shelled.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Welcome aboard the Good(?) Boy Express. Next stop, fuckedupville. Please keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle and read all tags for triggering content before proceeding. Enjoy the ride.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rank of smoke lingers in your apartment for days. A looming negativity that’s inspired you to avoid your home to seek rest elsewhere, returning only to sleep. Today, your refuge of choice is the patio of dog-friendly restaurant.</p><p>The patio is shaded with umbrellas over each table. You have one to yourself and Wuffie, using the restaurant’s proximity to a busy street to people watch. The dinner rush hasn’t arrived yet, so you don’t feel bad monopolizing the space for a while as you take slow sips of your coffee and snack on a plate of mozzarella sticks.</p><p>Your phone rings, jarring you from your peaceful musing. It’s a call from Black. Trepidation arises at talking to him after your last message to him had gone unanswered. A bare-boned ‘Mutt is safe. He wouldn’t let me see him and might be injured, but he’s alive.” You’re unsure how he reacted to the information. Would he resent that Mutt visited you and not him? The cherry on top of your unease-sundae is Mutt’s blessing of you <em>pursuing something</em> with him. It’s not a possibility you’d considered before but it’s hard not to think about it after such a blasé extension of permission. You try your best to push all that to the side as you answer the phone.</p><p>“The Mutt Has Returned,” Black announces, foregoing customary greetings.</p><p>You grin, happy for him and that glad life can go back to normal. “That’s great news!”</p><p>“Your Presence Is Required To Fulfill Your End Of The Deal.”</p><p>“The deal…” oh right. You’d volunteered to help punish Mutt when he returns, back when you were intensely angry at his leaving. “About that, I wasn’t in a great state of mind when I said that, and I—”</p><p>“You’re Breaking Our Deal?” the severity of Black’s tone promises bleak consequences if you say yes.</p><p>“Uh, no. I guess not.” you stammer and fold, grabbing your bag. “I’ll be there soon.”</p><p>The call disconnects.</p><p>Is it too much to hope that he will allow you to change his mind once you get there? Probably, you decide, packing your leftovers into a carryout bag. You resolve to watch your words more carefully around Black from here on. You drive Wuffie home first, as you’re not sure what to expect from this evening.</p><p>The journey to the lodge feels short and all too soon you’re faced with uncertainty. Black meets you at the front door and wordlessly leads you inside.</p><p>“Where’s Mutt?” you question, trailing behind him.</p><p>“In His Room, Awaiting Punishment.” His demeanor is curt and cold, more closed off than you’d ever seen him. You’d expected his brother’s return to put him in a better mood than this. Dread eats at your nerves.</p><p>“And where do I come in?”</p><p>“Your Role Is Remarkably Simple,” Black leads you into his brother’s bedroom. The prodigal skeleton is slumping on the back corner of his mattress. Mutt's eyelights shrink as he catches sight of you. As you’d expected, he’s injured. A deep slash of blood-orange from his mandible to just below his cheekbone. “Stay Put And Don’t Scream Too Loudly.”</p><p>Black’s menacing words hiss with authority. You fail to process them quickly enough before he shoves your shoulders downwards. You’re forced to your knees. Your arms reach out to brace yourself and they’re swiftly bound by bones caging your wrists to the floor.</p><p>“What the hell are you—” A piece of cloth is tied around your head and mouth, muffling you. “Mmph!”</p><p>You thrash against the restrains. The bones are staked deep into the floorboards and won’t budge. Terror setting in, you can only stare at the monster standing over you. Black’s posture is militant. A summoned bone-whip hangs from his grip. His attention doesn’t waver from his brother.</p><p>“It Has Become Clear To Me That Hurting You Directly Is No Longer A Deterrent. Your Recent Behavior Suggests That You <em>Enjoy</em> Putting Yourself In Harm’s Way. Since Indulging Your Self-Destructive Idiocy Is Not An Option, Alternative Measures Are Required. In Order To Punish You Properly, To Make You Regret Your Reckless Behavior…”</p><p>The whip encircles your neck, the vertebrae making up its length digging into your skin and jerking your chin upwards to face Mutt. His sockets are dark. He’s never looked so corpse-like to you, the only evidence of life is the way his phalanges are clenched in tight fists against the mattress.</p><p>“Y/N Will Suffer On Your Behalf.” The whip is removed from your neck and you slump forward. Your limbs begin to tremble. There’s no way. There’s no way Black is going to hit you with that. That dense, heavy bone with wicked sharp edges. There’s no way Mutt is going to <em>let</em> <em>him</em> hit you with that, right? <em>Right</em>? Hysteria rattles your inner voice.</p><p>“What Better Way To Teach You That Your Actions Affect Others? That Your Actions Have Irreparably Hurt And Maimed Those Around You? Harm That You <em>Selfishly</em> Ignore. No Longer, Mutt.” You witness the arrival of a towering skull hovering at Black’s shoulder. It would resemble Fang’s disembodied head if it weren’t for the dozens of eyeholes perforating its cranium. They range in size from small and spiderlike to the size of your fist. Each is alight with crimson crosshairs. Their glow flares ominously as Black orders, “You Must Face The Consequences Of Your Actions. WATCH.”</p><p>There’s a sickening <em>crack</em> as the whip connects with your back. The tenseness of your muscles and the thin cotton of your shirt does little to dull the impact. Your eyes squeeze shut against the pain as it sears you, the scorching the strip of skin where the whip made contact. If Black’s purpose to this stunt is to torture Mutt with your pain, you resolve to show as little of it as possible, withholding a whimper. Resolve aside, you can’t help the sting of tears behind your lids.</p><p>With the <em>whack</em> of a second blow, the tears spill down your cheeks. The agony forces you to bite into the gag to restrain your cries. While the first mark throbs the sting of the second spreads the burning across the side of your back. The pain…you’ve never felt pain like this before…it’s all-encompassing, all you can think about.</p><p>“m’lord, stop it.” the urgency in Mutt’s tone is unfamiliar, uncharacteristic. Blearily, you open your eyes to see the draconic skull biting into the shoulder of his jacket, holding him back. His claw-like phalanges stab into the stuffing of the mattress.</p><p>Black disregards him, bringing back his arm for a third lashing that’s intensity sends you buckling forward, head resting against your arm. The movement alerts you to your shirt sticking against your back. Dampness causes it to cling uncomfortably to your injuries. A few droplets flow down the curve of your spine. Blood. You’re bleeding. Wooziness urges you to shut your eyes again, overwhelmed.</p><p>“stop,” Mutt pleads again. It only seems to embolden Black as he strikes again, and again. “stop it!”</p><p>“WHY SHOULD I LISTEN TO YOU? YOU, WHO REFUSES TO HEARKEN WHEN IT MATTERS MOST?” he rages, left eyelight formed into a reticle, mirroring those of his blasters’. “WILL <em>YOU</em> STOP? STOP FORCING ME TO STAND BY WHILE YOU GET CLOSER AND CLOSER TO DUSTING YOURSELF?!”</p><p>“yes, i’ll stop. i’ll stop leaving.” The conversation gives you a minute of respite. The pain ebbs from excruciating to agonizing.</p><p>“That’s What You Said Last Time,” Black growls in disappointment. “YOU ARE CONSTANTLY LYING. Does Your Word Mean Anything Anymore? Does That Collar Mean Anything To You Anymore?”</p><p>“i’m still here, aren’t i?” a weary desperation seeps into Mutt’s voice.</p><p>“Today. You Are Here Today. YOU WERE AT THE FUCKING HUMAN’S HOUSE A FEW DAYS AGO. DON’T DENY IT.” You attempt to lift your head and Black grabs you by the base of your hair. “It Is One Matter For You To Run Off To Indulge Your Addictions. It Is A New Low Of Wretchedness Entirely For You To Forsake Your Family For An Evening Of Fraternizing With Your ‘Friend’! YOU ARE A DISGRACE!”</p><p>“’m sorry, m’lord.”</p><p>Black releases your head and it droops back down. “I Don’t Believe You. Are You Sorry? Or Are You Resentful That The Roles Aren’t Reversed, That You’re Not The One Doing The Human Hurting? I Know How Much You Miss It,” he sneers tauntingly.</p><p>“i am sorry. terribly sorry, m’lord.”</p><p>“Good. Then Keep Being Sorry, Until The Punishment Is Over.”</p><p>In the absence of unscathed skin, the next strike crisscrosses over your other wounds, amplifying the pain to an unbearable intensity. The whip ravages the raw flesh. A fresh wave of blood weeps from the lacerations. This time you’re unable to suppress the sob that breaks from your throat.</p><p>Reality distorts under the weight of the constant blows. You’re unsure how long the nightmare goes on. More words are spoken but you can’t make them out, unable to focus on them.</p><p>Enervation prevents you from struggling as you’re dragged from the room. Your wounds sting and bite with every movement. Black deposits you onto his bed, stomach down, and you cringe into the pillow. Is he going to start hitting you again?</p><p>The fear is quelled by an influx of healing magic sending waves of relief and comfort crashing over you. The skin of your back tingles and hums under his hands, reknitting itself. The restorative magic is not aimed directly at your soul. Instead of the overwhelming burst of bliss like your first exposure, the sensation takes the form of an instantaneously effective balm being spread over all physical ailments. The skin of your back is mended under his careful touch. The bruising is repaired. Even the stressful tautness of your muscles relaxes, and your body becomes perfectly at ease.</p><p>The fog of pain is dispelled from your mind, yet the clearness doesn’t last. The physical anguish is banished but its memory remains with the ache of anger and humiliation.</p><p>“It Is Regrettable That You Had To Be…Afflicted By Mutt’s Punishment. Your Pain Was Undeserved.” The words are meant to be consoling but they serve to enrage you further.</p><p>“Just admit it,” you whisper fiercely, clenching the sheets. “you don’t give a fuck about Mutt. About anyone. You did this for yourself. Your own sick sense of control. You <em>enjoyed</em> hurting us.”</p><p>You push yourself off the pillow, turning to Black with an unforgiving glare. “Admit it! You’re a control freak, sacrificing whoever you please at the altar of your overgrown ego!”</p><p>Taken aback by your accusation, he jumps to his own defense, “Do Not Mistake Me For My Brother! I Am Not A Sadist. I Took No Pleasure In What I Had To Do. I Did What Was Necessary.”</p><p>“<em>Necessary</em>?” you laugh without humor. “Since when is it <em>necessary</em> to manipulate your loved ones with violence? I can’t believe I ever judged him for leaving. That I ever thought to encourage him to come back. Back to his fucking <em>abusive brother</em>.”</p><p>“Do Not Speak Of Things Which You Do Not Understand, Human.” Black warns, gritting his teeth.</p><p>“That’s what you’re going with? That I don’t understand, unlike the all-knowing Black?” You stand up from his bed to get in his face. “Fuck you. Fuck your superiority complex that keeps you from seeing any solution that might threaten the power you have over people! There are ways to handle a sibling with…troubles. Do you think you’re the only one who’s gone through this? You’re not! And those other people probably handled it way better! They asked for help instead of playing god!”</p><p>A realization seems to dawn on you. “That’s right. I should ask for help. Call someone. A social worker…the police.”</p><p>“What Would The Police Do? Your Injuries Are Healed. The Weapon Is Dematerialized. Though Mutt Has Fallen Low, His Loyalties Are Not Diminished To The Point Where He Would Betray Me To The Human Government.”</p><p>“Of course, that’s why you healed me. To cover your tracks. Unbelievable.”</p><p>Fury furrows your brows and sends blood rushing to your fists and feet.</p><p>“That Is Not Why. I Told You, Human, It Was Not My Purpose To Hurt You! If It Were Possible To Punish Mutt Without Doing So, I Would Have. You Are Incapable Of A Convincing Enough Deception. Thus, Your Real And Temporary Discomfort Was Needed.”</p><p>“Oh, so it’s my own fault, because I’m not good enough at acting?”</p><p>“That Is Not—”</p><p>“No, no, let me get your point straight. You trapped me, whipped me until I bled, but that’s all fine and good because the situation required it and it was a ‘temporary discomfort’. Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”</p><p>“I Understand You’re Aggrieved By The Events Of Today, However, I Stand By My Actions And Will Not Apologize For Them.”</p><p>“Fine,” your face hardens. His answer must have been the one you were waiting for because you pounce on it. “If that’s the case, you won’t mind proving it.”</p><p>“Proving What?”</p><p>“Prove that you’re not doing all this for your ego. Prove that hurting someone is no big deal if it gets the point across, even if that someone is you. You won’t apologize for whipping me? Fine. Let me return the favor.”</p><p>You advance on him as you speak, eyes burning with the challenge. He is forced to step back to avoid colliding with you.</p><p>“Return The Favor…” he echoes, as close to a whisper as his outrageous volume allows, backed into the wall.</p><p>Your anger steadies into a forceful calm. “Summon the bone whip and place it into my hands.”</p><p>Black appears to snap out of something as his hostility returns, demanding, “Why Should I Bother Proving Myself To You?”</p><p>“That’s up to you. Do you want to prove to me that you’re worth speaking to ever again? Or will you back down like the filthy, hypocritical coward that you—”</p><p>“Silence!” he pushes passed you to the center of the room. He takes a moment to struggle with himself, adjusting the buttons on his jacket. His skull half-turns to glimpse at you his shoulder, before retreating to stare at the empty wall ahead. When he fully faces you again, the bone whip is in his grasp. “I Am No Hypocrite. If It Is As <em>Strictly</em> Necessary For You To Whip Me As I Did You, Then I Will Allow It.” Hesitantly, he hands over the whip.</p><p>“This is more than you deserve. You didn’t give me a chance to allow it. Or refuse it.” You run the spine of the whip over your palm, gently feeling the bumps and ridges that tore the surface of your back. “You recklessly went along with your own desires. Isn’t that what you always criticize Mutt for doing? I think he’s not the only one who needs to be reminded that his actions affect others. Get on your knees.”</p><p>Black begrudgingly acquiesces and kneels in front of you. It’s surreal, to be on the other side of this, so soon.</p><p>“Take off the jacket.” He begins to protest but you elaborate before he gets the chance, “The material is thick and sturdy. You don’t get armor for this. I didn’t. It comes off.”</p><p>He sheds the covering, folding it and setting it to the side. His ribcage is bare. It’s this moment that your conviction wavers. What are you doing? You’ve never even cracked a whip before! Are you sinking to his level by doing this? No, this is justice. An eye for an eye. He deserves consequences for his actions and you’re going to be the one to make sure he gets them.</p><p>You test the weight of the whip, brandishing it in the air besides you. It lacks the signature snap indicating that its tip has surpassed the speed of sound.</p><p>“Having Trouble?” Black snarks from below you.</p><p>“Shut up. It’ll hurt when it hits you, that’s all that matters.” You raise your arm to strike, aiming your hips towards your target. Intentionally harming a person feels foreign to you. Feels wrong. But you push those feelings away. You know it’s wrong, but he doesn’t. He has to <em>learn</em>. You’ll make him confront the wrongness of his action by replicating them. You hurl your arm down.</p><p><em>Crack</em>.</p><p>Bone collides against bone. Black flinches under the blow but shows no other sign of distress. The hit leaves no mark on his ribs. You lean to inspect closer. You find older scars of scrapes and breakages but no evidence of your work. Testing, you press your fingers against the spot you’d hit. No reaction. The hit must have landed incorrectly if the pain isn’t lingering.</p><p>Half of the torture you’d experienced had been from layering the damage. You weren’t about to spare him that. “Does it still hurt?”</p><p>“The Pain Threshold Of A Seasoned Monster Such As Myself Should Not Be Underestimated. That Was Nothing But A Bee Sting. The Prick Of A Needle.”</p><p>“Then I’ll have to try harder,” you growl, standing back up to full height.</p><p>This time you don’t hesitate. You draw on the muscles in the rest of your body in addition to your biceps to crash the whip against his spine.</p><p>Another wince. Several droplets of red-tinted magic bead his skull. Progress? You press onward.  With each strike, you unleash your frustration, your disillusionment, your ire at being backstabbed.</p><p>It doesn’t take long before your inexperienced muscles tire of the strain. Your body can’t keep up with your will. You crouch, seeking consolation in the damage you’d left on Black’s bones. Nothing. Not a scratch. You grit your teeth, fuming at your own limitations.</p><p>“Did You Forget, Human? We Are Not The Same. That Which Hurt You Is Not Enough Against Me. My Strength Guarantees That The Struggles Which Belabor The Weak Affect Me Unequally,” his unrepentant arrogance stokes the rage burning within you.</p><p><em>That bastard</em>. Even now, when you’ve got him on his knees, he’s unmoved. He’s still clinging to the belief that he’s superior. Immune to the problems of the <em>weak</em>.</p><p>A glimmering of white filters through his ribs. The shining of his soul, an inverted heart floating at the center of his ribcage. The essence of his being. As much as he builds himself up that part of him will always be weak. Vulnerable.</p><p>Black needs to understand that he’s not above you. That his ‘strength’ amounts to little more than a self-important delusion. You are the same, both ultimately powerless against the greater scheme of the universe. Whatever boundaries he’s set up in his mind to separate himself from you…you want to <em>break</em> them.</p><p>Such is your intention as your hand snakes beneath his ribs to seize his soul.</p><p>The change is instantaneous. His breath catches, his bones quiver against your chest. His soul’s aggressive warmth smolders against your palm. </p><p>“Do you understand now?”</p><p>Your fingernails press into the soul’s membranous surface.</p><p>“Gyah—” he grunts, his skull collapsing backwards onto your shoulder.</p><p>“Answer!” your grip tightens punitively around the little heart. “Your life is in my hands. It doesn’t matter that I’m human. You can’t dismiss me. Dismiss my pain. <em>Do you understand?</em>”</p><p>“Y-Yes!” Black’s breaths come out in pants.</p><p>“Good.” Your hold loosens and your thumb strokes his soul placatingly. “Now pull me into an encounter. I want to <em>see</em> your HP drop as I whip you.”</p><p>Black whimpers and complies. The sound sends a rush of gratification through you. Your hand slips from his soul and you retreat from his back to allow your own soul room to maneuver as its tugged from your torso.</p><p>All is greyscale, except your bright soul. Black’s bones contrast starkly with the inky darkness surrounding him. He turns to face you. As you’d feared, your earlier efforts had only dented his HP by a few measly points from his max. If you’d interpreted Mutt’s explanation of encounters correctly, it’d be the power of your soul’s intent, not the stamina of your muscles, that would determine things from now on,</p><p>You’re ready to FIGHT. Your grasp on the whip tightens as your heart approaches the option. The action appears no different than it did outside of the encounter, but you feel the strain on your soul as you lash out with the weapon. It connects with Black’s side. A strangled noise escapes his metaphorical throat. His HP drops more in one hit than you’d managed in dozens before.</p><p>It’s Black’s turn. Your soul is jittery, anticipating his reciprocation of the attack. None arrives. He elects to ACT.</p><p>“You Mean To Convince Me Of The Wrongness Of My Actions. But By Mimicking Me, You’re Beginning To Appreciate The Efficacy Of My Methods, Aren’t You? I Can Tell. Ironic, That You’re Guilty Of The Very Thing You Accused Me Of. <em>Enjoying This</em>.”</p><p>Your soul oscillates between FIGHT and ACT, unsure if you’d rather tell him to shut up or make him hurt so badly that he’s forced to shut up—</p><p>Oh god. He’s right, isn’t he? Having power over Black, holding his life in your hands, it’s gone to your head. But if he’s right, isn’t also proving you right? That punishment is a power trip for the one delivering it rather than something done in the recipient’s best interest? You wrestle with indecision long enough that you end up passing your turn.</p><p>Black ACTS again.</p><p>“Y/N. This Ethical Quandary You’re Quibbling With Matters Not. It Is Only Strength That Drives Us. Your Soul Seeks To Control Mine Because It Threatened You. Rather Than Proving To You That I Am Worth Speaking To, As You Claimed, This Exercise Is To Prove To Yourself That You Can Contend With Me. Now That This Is Established, You Will Cease This Pointless Moralizing.”</p><p>This time, your soul doesn’t hesitate to ACT.</p><p>&gt;Check</p><p>&gt;Insult</p><p>
  <strong>[&gt;Argue]</strong>
</p><p>“No! You’ve got it all wrong. If anything, this is showing me how shitty your methods are because you’re obviously not learning at all! This isn’t about strength. I may have gotten…caught up. But this isn’t about that. How can you not get this, Black?”</p><p>Through the cracks in your anger leak a profound sadness.</p><p>“You betrayed me! You hurt me and used me to get back at your brother! How the hell am I supposed to trust you again unless you at least acknowledge that what you did is unacceptable? How can I be around you without wondering if you won’t do it again? Or do something even worse?”</p><p>Your words hit their mark and his skull softens with pensive uncertainty.</p><p>“Y/N, You Touched My Soul, Surely You Recognize That…” The confusion clears as a realization causes him to scowl indignantly. “Hmph! I Have Overestimated Humanity. I Knew That Your Kind Is Ignorant In Matters Of The Soul But This Is Beyond All Expectation. Spare Me, And I Will Amend This Oblivious Oversight.”</p><p>You’d missed something? There’s little more maddening than missing a piece of the puzzle. You offer MERCY.</p><p>The surroundings solidify to fill the void around you with the immaculate and sparse furnishings of Black’s bedchambers. He ensures that your soul is securely in your chest before retrieving his own.</p><p>“This Would Be Entirely Unnecessary If Your Kind Wasn’t So Dull.” he complains, a cherry-red blush undermining the bite in his criticism. “This Is A One Time Occurrence! Only So That You Will Acknowledge How Ridiculous And Unfounded Your Fears Are.”</p><p>He tentatively extends his soul towards you, pressing it back into your open palms. “Focus. You Will See That I Am Speaking The Truth.”</p><p>The last time you’d touched his soul, you’d been too caught up in getting your point across that the connection had been one sided. This time, you’re mindful of how the upside-down heart reacts to you, what it shows you. You listen.</p><p>Memories surface in your mind’s eye. Flashes of your bloodied back accompanied by guilt and disgust with himself. The stings of shame as Mutt begs him to stop. The relief he felt at being able to heal you, at curing the injures brought by his hand. The bitterness of confronting your image of him, forever warped by his cruelty. A tumultuous period of uncertainty as he’s forced to question what he’s willing to do, to keep you from cutting him out. From the uncertainty the blossoming of an entirely new feeling, as you wield your will against him—</p><p>Emphasis is hastily shifted from memories towards unfiltered intention. Unfiltered as it is, Black’s intent towards you is chaotic and ill-defined. A dynamic mess of attitudes and layered opinions. From the mess, all you can make out is the lack of maliciousness. A revulsion at the concept of harming you again.</p><p>You relinquish his soul, allowing it to return to his ribcage. Black eyes you acutely, expectant of your reaction.</p><p>You’re unsure. His soul sharing means you can now be certain he doesn’t want to hurt you, and that he didn’t do it for the wrong reasons. That doesn’t change the harm he’s done. How much does intent matter, compared to the consequences he wrought? Plenty of horrible people believe they’re doing the right thing as they destroy everyone around them.</p><p>The logic of it all is warped into uselessness. In the end, it will come down to how you feel. Whether you can find it in your heart to forgive him. Your emotions are too fresh, too raw from the events of the day to process it all.</p><p>“I’ll need time,” you tell him, rubbing your arm. “And distance. I need to think.”</p><p>Black is visibly unsatisfied by this response, crossing his arms and openly scowling. “Fine. But Human, You Will Inform Me Once You Are Finished Needing Distance. And What Happened In This Room—You Will NEVER Speak Of. To Anyone.”</p><p>You nod and rise to your feet, leaving the whip on the floor. “Goodbye, Black.” A part of you wonders if these should be your final words to him. You leave his bedroom, shutting the door behind you with a sigh.</p><p>Mutt’s room is yards away, but it takes several minutes for you to get there. It takes a concerted effort to gather the capacity to face him again and…</p><p>To go back to where it happened.</p><p>When you enter the room, Mutt’s sights are instantly on you, his eyesockets shadowed and gaunt. He’s right where you’d left him. Black’s blaster still restrains him, its jaws clenched steadfastly onto his collarbone. You go to him, walking passed the patch where the carpet is torn and bloodied to kneel besides him on the bed.</p><p>“he healed you, right?” Mutt’s phalanges ghost over the shredded material covering your back.</p><p>“Yeah.” The many-eyed skull growls into your ear but you ignore it as you pull him into a hug. “Does he heal you too? After he beats you?”</p><p>He stiffens. You lament bringing it up, but it can’t go unaddressed.</p><p>“look, ‘m not the victim ‘ere. i don’t need rescuing. m’lord bashes me up a bit after i leave. and i do it anyway. ‘s no trouble.” You pull away, upset by his casualness. He gestures to the gash in his mandible. “i get scraped up a lot. hardly feel it anymore.”</p><p>“Did Black give that to you?”</p><p>“no. didn’t lay a phalange on me this time. should’ve known something was off.” You consider the possibility that your deal with Black, with the clause that Mutt not be physically harmed, that is partially responsible for this. At least some good came out of your rash decision.</p><p>“How could you not tell me? Even if you’re somehow okay with it …didn’t I deserve to know what he is capable of? If I’d known I wouldn’t have agreed to that stupid deal of his!”</p><p>Mutt pulls you back against him, petting your head. “’m sorry. shouldn’t’ve kept you in the dark. didn’t think he’d drag you into this.” his hand curls into your hair. “won’t let ‘im touch you again. i take back what i said about you n’ m’lord. stay away from him.”</p><p>That’s not for him to decide, but you don’t have the emotional energy to protest. You lean into him. For a few deep breaths you simply stay and enjoy the gentle touch. The blaster doesn’t take kindly to this and restlessly attempts to tug Mutt away from you. He finally gives in to it and releases you with an exasperated grumble.</p><p>“I’m going home. We’ll talk more after we’ve both gotten some space.”</p><p>“soon?” his haggard puppy eyes would’ve convinced you to stay if you weren’t so numb and empty right now.</p><p>“We’ll see. I have a lot of thinking to do. Goodbye, Mutt.”</p><p>You’re very conscious of the air flowing in through the tears in your top as you rush back to your car. Your injuries are gone but some gore remains soaked into the fabric and you <em>really</em> don’t want to run into anyone and need to explain. You take the stairs two steps at a time. You’re through the front door and about to unlock your car door when a claw on your shoulder causes you to flinch and drop your keys.</p><p>Fang lowers himself to retrieve them. “smelled your blood.” He doesn’t ask what happened, but the question is there. His head is tilted, concern etched into his skull.</p><p>“I’m okay,” you insist, hoping the half-assed assurance will be enough.</p><p>“don’t hafta be.” He drops the keys into your awaiting hand. “it’s ok if you’re not.”</p><p>You hesitate. You feel safe with Fang, safer than you’d feel in your smoky apartment. But Wuffie needs you, and you need space. “I am okay, really. But thank you, Fang. I’ll see you around.” You retreat into your vehicle and drive back to your home, where you can piece yourself back together again.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry :’)<br/>Choo choo motherfucker.<br/>You thought Black is baby, all tsundere and harmless in his blanket burrito? False. He is still a wicked fellverse fucker. At least you got your vengeance. And…awakened something in Black?<br/>How can he understand how wrong it is to hurt someone when reader’s punishment feels so right?<br/>It’s been awhile since we’ve gotten Mutt’s perspective. That’s up next.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This isn’t supposed to happen. Mutt is supposed to feel <em>better</em> after his “vacations”. Not this endless exasperation, so soon after his return, that he wants to run away from but can’t because it’s his running away that caused all this in the first place. He glowers from his seat in the upstairs living room. It’s where the weaker alternates prefer to hang out. Recently, they’ve known better than to linger in common areas. M’lord’s mood was dour while he was away, and his brother never hesitates to take it out on the others. Neither does he, though his methods tend to be less overt. Now, it’s his own mood that’s driving the others to think twice before leaving the safety of their rooms. Regardless of their attempts to give him a wide berth, they’re bound to encounter him at some point. They’ll try to snag a book from the shelf or a microwave meal from the freezer. When they do, he’ll be there, eager to find a target to divert his thoughts from your discomforting ‘space’.</p>
<p>Is this karmic retribution? He’d left you behind, left you to Black’s devices, and now he’s powerless to stop you from leaving him. He knows your lack of communication with him since the incident doesn’t necessarily imply that you’ll never want to see him again. But after what he’d put you through, could he really blame you if that’s what you decided?</p>
<p>There’s a stirring from the hallway. A bedroom door opening. Mutt’s tongue runs over a golden fang. He hopes it’s Blueberry. The runt is an easy target. As an added bonus, he looks enough like m’lord that if Mutt squints his eyelights, he can imagine that it’s his brother when he trips Blue down the stairs. No such luck. It’s Stretch’s garishly orange sweatshirt that invades his line of sight. “stop creeping around,” he admonishes. “you’ve got plenty of room downstairs to be a brooding asshole, stay out of our space.” </p>
<p>“you’d know all ‘bout bein’ a broodin asshole, wouldn’t you?” Mutt makes no effort to leave, instead kicking his feet up and getting comfortable. As much as he loathes himself at the moment, he hates Stretch more. A pampered babybones who got all the care in the world but still manages to be a worthless, stuttering fuck-up. Its one of life’s simple pleasures to remind him of that fact.</p>
<p>“look. we all know you and black have been fighting. just quit the dramatics before vanilla has to get involved.”</p>
<p>Fighting. That’s not the word Mutt would’ve chosen. His relationship with m’lord is better described as being…strained. Since their ‘spat’ the night of his punishment last week, they’ve gone back to routine. He obeys m’lord. Often with a degree of malicious compliance. This goading has been, for the most part, ignored by his older brother. Black is too caught up in his own contrition to give it much attention. It’s that, and an odd fervor to his musings that leaves Mutt’s antagonism rather one-sided.</p>
<p>Stretch watches Mutt stare blankly ahead with increasing impatience. “leave.” he snaps, kicking the other skeleton’s femurs off the ottoman.</p>
<p>“or what? you’ll make me?” vindictive laughter rumbles in Mutt’s ribcage. “love to see you try. your poor runt brother ‘ll be left to clean up your dust. be able tell ‘nilla it was self-defense.”</p>
<p>Stretch’s shoulders scrunch with agitation. His teeth part, but he seems to think better of replying and storms off, bedroom door slamming behind him. Mutt smirks with satisfaction. The distraction is short-lived.</p>
<p>
  <em>“we all know you and black have been fighting.”</em>
</p>
<p>They haven’t fought. But that night, they’d gotten close. Very close. He recalls barging into m’lord’s room as soon as the blaster’d released him. Black hadn’t bothered to react to his entrance. He’d been leaned over his desk, staring dimly into his mirror. His magic levels were depleted from healing you.</p>
<p>“you’re weak,” Mutt remarked, hostilely stalking into the room.</p>
<p>“Astute Of You To Notice, Brother,” he quips sarcastically, focus not fully there. “I Don’t Deny It. My Abilities Are Impaired. Are You Going To Take Advantage Of That?”</p>
<p>“i should. you don’t deserve authority. not after that.” Mutt stopped short of the desk, standing with his stance wide, combat ready.</p>
<p>“Deserve? Don’t Make Me Laugh. Threaten To Challenge Me All You’d Like, You Know Why I’m In Charge.” For the first time since he’d entered the room, Black meets his gaze. “The Mantle Falls To Me Because You Don’t Have The Spine For It. Your Sorry Lack Of Leadership Would Run Us Both Into The Ground. You Think You Could Handle Heading Our Family? You Can’t Even Take Responsibility For Your Own Wellbeing!”</p>
<p>“my wellbeing would be better if you didn’t torture my fucking friend!”</p>
<p>“Don’t Try To Pin This On Me. I Know I May Not Be The Most…Supportive Of Siblings, But Your Behavior Isn’t Caused By My Lack Of Coddling. Black faces him fully, expression grim.</p>
<p>“I Figured It Out. The Reason You Didn’t Pull Me Into An Encounter When I Attacked The Human, It’s Because You Didn’t Want Me To See Your EXP. And When I Accused You Of Missing It, The Human-Hurting, I Was Mistaken. Because You Never Denied Your Urges Long Enough To Give Yourself The Chance To Miss It, Did You?”</p>
<p>Mutt took a step backwards, his fists curling. He’d disappeared. Retreated.</p>
<p>M’lord shouldn’t know. No one should know. It’d have been <em>so much easier</em> if no one knew. He’d taken many precautions in order to keep up the secrecy. It’s not difficult for him. He can teleport. He doesn’t leave any fingerprints. He covers his tracks when he takes commissions over the dark web.</p>
<p>That he spends his time away to binge drink and go on drug benders is not a lie. It’s a half-truth. The other half of that truth is that he works his second job, as an assassin.</p>
<p>He doesn’t kill indiscriminately. His first choice of victim is the scumbags that cause more work for m’lord. The ones who openly harass monsterkind but are legally untouchable. Trash that no one misses. He’s careful to make those ones look like an accident, to avoid implicating his brother.</p>
<p>His second choice is up to the highest bidder. There’s no shortage of humans willing to throw another one of their own kind under the bus. He’s willing to interject himself into their disputes, provided they pay. There’s no need to launder the money, as its immediately funneled into his indulgent drug purchases.</p>
<p>It hasn’t been necessary to resort to his third choice since the underground. The official hitmonster channels of below the surface were closely monitored by the royal guard, so Mutt had resorted to less organized methods. Methods such as scouring derelict areas of town and dusting the first monster to look at him the wrong way.</p>
<p>It’s not as if he has a crusade against humanity, against life. It’s never personal. It’s just…</p>
<p>Some afternoons, he wakes up, and everything is fine. Normal. He listens to his older brother. Respects m’lord’s vision and drive towards excellence. Puts effort into his cybersecurity career. Time passes by quickly. The mundanity is safe and comforting.</p>
<p>Other days, he wakes up, and everything is…off. <em>Itchy</em>. M’lord’s presence is an annoyance. Every demand is abrasive, grating on him. The collar chafes and lays heavily around his cervical vertebrae. Time passes sluggishly. The mundanity is caging and choking.</p>
<p>Mutt can’t hold his LV. Not like m’lord can. He isn’t disciplined enough to resist that itch, the siren call of violence that transcends mundanity. He’s sure, without m’lord’s intervention, the craving would still be there, lurking in the back corners of his soul. But the orders, the insults, the contempt only aggravate his worse instincts.</p>
<p>The instinct to dominate. To thrash against and obstinately resist all efforts to control him. It contorts him into a monster he doesn’t like. It’s shameful. Mutt knows it is. He bares the understanding that the wrongness is within him. He’d left the world of kill or be killed; violence is no longer a necessity for survival. It’s his own twisted self that refuses to be satisfied with what he has, always yearning for the validation of his own power and supremacy over death, chasing the euphoric rush of killing.</p>
<p>Sometimes, this is at the cost of his own welfare. Mutt traces the not-quite-healed gash in his skull with his pointer distal. The targets will try to defend themselves. The risk that he could be dusted is part of the rush. He embraces it.</p>
<p>But now, Black knows. He might tell you that your new friend is a murderer. May have already told you. An unstable, filthy human killer. M’lord could easily hold this information over his head, an instant death sentence to his relationship with you if he steps out of line again. As if he needed another liability. There’s already the looming possibility that his brother would repeat the punishment, continually using you as a hostage against his own bad behavior. He’s cornered, trapped by his attachment to you. His powerlessness…it’s making him itchy. Mutt is itching to FIGHT. Itching to keep you close to him, and far away from Black. </p>
<p>He takes a hit of his dog treat to deescalate his thoughts. A long inhale draws the haze into his skull, soothing. Its effects are subtler since he has such a tolerance for it, but it still manages to dampen that sense of wrongness and replace it with calming complacency. He exhales.</p>
<p>He can’t. Can’t do anything until you let him back into your life. Technically, he has access to your home. He could track your phone and get a grasp of your location and movements. For your own protection, of course. Yet, he knows he’s on thin ice. Doesn’t want to jeopardize your trust more than he already has. Mutt wants you to feel safe around him. And in order for that to happen, he needs to sit on his hands and endure this. Wait for you to let him back in.</p>
<p>Thankfully, you don’t leave him waiting for too long. Later that day he and Black receive a group message from you.</p>
<p>y/n: We need to talk. I’ll come over and meet with both of you, but I have conditions.</p>
<p>Mutt’s about to ask but his brother beats him to it.</p>
<p>m’lord: What Are Your Conditions?</p>
<p>y/n: 1. Neither of you will use magic while I’m there. Not on me, not around me.</p>
<p>m’lord: This Is Acceptable.</p>
<p>Mutt: ok</p>
<p>y/n: 2. You’re going to be cooperative. No fighting or arguing with me, or each other.</p>
<p>Mutt: we will</p>
<p>y/n: Black?</p>
<p>m’lord: Fine.</p>
<p>y/n: 3. You will listen to what I have to say. No interrupting. You have the right to disagree, but you WILL hear me out.</p>
<p>Mutt: yes</p>
<p>m'lord: Simple Enough. Is That All?</p>
<p>y/n: For now, yeah. I will add more if it becomes necessary. Can I come over tomorrow night?</p>
<p>The date and time is set. Mutt is unhappy that you’ve chosen for this to be a group meeting. Why are you bothering with Black anymore? You should be avoiding him. Mutt’s the only one you should be reaching out to right now. That frustration is surpassed by relief. He’s going to see you again—you’re not rejecting him. Not yet.</p>
<p>When you arrive, he can hardly restrain himself from rushing to you. But a burly skeleton blocks his way. Fang is your second shadow, steadfastly by your side. You greet Mutt tersely and explain. “Fang has offered to be my bodyguard tonight. To keep me safe. You know, in case <em>someone</em> decides to do something stupid.” You glower at Black, seated across the room at the head of the dining table. He returns your glare before blustering and refusing to meet your eyes.</p>
<p>You pause before getting closer. A flash of doubt crosses your arms unsteadies your steps. Fang places a large claw on your upper back, and you crane your head to look at him with a glimmer of appreciation. A stab of spite twinges in Mutt’s soul. That should be him. You should be looking at him like that, letting <em>him</em> protect you, not the blaster. Mutt catches himself. No, it couldn’t be him. He failed you. He didn’t defend you from m’lord, so why would you turn to him now?</p>
<p>Him.</p>
<p><em>undeserving</em>.</p>
<p>
  <em>s p i n e l e s s</em>
</p>
<p>You seat yourself at the opposite end of the table from Black. Fang stands behind you, claws wrapped around the back of your chair. Mutt moves away from you to join his brother. The pale dying light of the sun coolly illuminates the room. A tension thickens the atmosphere. Your demeanor is steely. Mutt lets your coldness wash over him. He’s unworthy of your warmth. The skeletons are silent, awaiting your announcement. You wet your lips.</p>
<p>“Whatever is going on with you two…it confuses me. Scares me. I don’t understand it and my better instincts tell me I should get far away from it.” Mutt’s eyelights are downcast. That is…fair. Your instincts are probably right about them. No, not probably. Definitely. He still wishes that this won’t be goodbye. “But, despite that, I want things to be better. I don’t want to look back on this and remember you as this—”</p>
<p>You shudder. A haunted pain has you leaning back, bracing yourself against the unwanted memories. A deep sigh, and you continue, “I don’t want to leave it there. Not without at least telling you something and…offering this.”</p>
<p>You reach into your pocket and pull out a few small rectangles of paper. Picking through them, you slide one across the table to be viewed by Mutt and Black.</p>
<p>The older brother cautiously retrieves the business card and reads, “Dr. Freeman, PhD And MHC. Family Systems Therapist…” Black’s teeth tug into a skeptical frown.</p>
<p>“I took the liberty of finding a monster-friendly therapist, one who specializes in dysfunctional households. I hope that both of you will get help. If not with him, then with another professional. What you’re doing isn’t healthy.” You emphasis with a pointed look at Black, before directing your icy stare at Mutt. “<em>Either</em> of you.”</p>
<p>The last two business cards are distributed, one to each brother. Mutt inspects his numbly. <em>Dr. Odinkirk. Addiction counseling</em>. The small printed letters are accusing. Damning. He cranes his neck to spy what m’lord’s says. He catches one word before Black indignantly clutches it to his chest. <em>Trauma</em>.</p>
<p>“Please go, individually and as a family, at least once a week. I know you can afford it. I’ve seen your car.” Your tone is ambivalent. Accusing and pleading. You’re visibly uncomfortable, but insistent. “Don’t misunderstand, though. This isn’t…this isn’t a deal, or an arrangement. I won’t promise to forgive you if you get therapy. I won’t guarantee anything.”</p>
<p>The pause is heavy. Neither brother wants to talk and break the condition of not interrupting you. “But, for your own sakes. I think you should try.” Your eyes are on Mutt as you speak. Behind their guard, they’re imploring, begging for him to put in the effort.</p>
<p><em>We should still try</em>, you’d said, the night he’d drunkenly decided to visit you. He’d paid dearly for that moment of weakness. M’lord wouldn’t forget it. But he won’t forget it either. That time you’d shared, the intimacy of having you close, hearing you say his name… he would treasure it.</p>
<p>It had been effortless to reassure you then. As simple and natural as breathing to draw you into his arms and pull you from your worries. That is, until you’d brought Black into it. With that inclusion the dynamic has changed. If he’s going to get closer to you, it’ll take more than allowing himself to magnetically float towards you. Your poles have switched. It’ll be a swim up current to reach you, to breach this chasm.</p>
<p>The business card pokes uncomfortably into the bones of his hand. It’s a warrant. The menace of surrender to an institution he doesn’t trust. He’d have to subject himself, not to m’lord but to a strange human establishment that claims authority over mental health with a blood-spattered history of incarcerating and lobotomizing the humans who don’t fit their definition of ‘healthy’. Can he accept that? Can he try, the way you want him to?</p>
<p>“You might not like being told what’s what by a human, but they’re professionals. They’re there to help. I will also be attending therapy. In a different office, of course.” Your head hangs for a moment. Fang squeezes your shoulders encouragingly. You swallow, and nod. “Well…consider it. That’s all I wanted to say.”</p>
<p>You stand slowly and turn to leave.</p>
<p>“Wait!” Black calls, his scowl set and his eyelights red with determination. “I Do Not Need To Think About It, Y/N. I Will Agree To Your Not-Deal.”</p>
<p>The exclamation surprises you, lifting your brows and for a brief instant clearing the cloud of worry from your face. Mutt is surprised also, and suspicious. What is m’lord thinking? Is he seeking to enlist a therapist in his attempts to control and regulate Mutt’s behavior? There’s a quality to m’lord’s countenance that has him thinking to the contrary. A purposefulness. An unspoken challenge that has been issued and accepted.</p>
<p>This isn’t supposed to happen, either. He’s fallen out of sync with his brother. Even when they are at each other’s throats, they have an understanding. But he can’t comprehend what would cause Black to accept this sentencing to therapy so easily and enthusiastically. Mutt is too preoccupied mulling over this disconnect in his understanding to register your and m’lord’s expectant stares until one speaks. “Mutt?” you prompt, tentative hope lightening your tone. He hesitates. He doesn’t want to crush your hope in him, but he will, eventually. He’s hopeless. Even if he were amenable to human psychiatry, there’s still no therapy in the world that would fix him. LoVe is everlasting.</p>
<p>He needs to deflect, to disappear, but the use of his magic is restricted by your conditions. He answers evasively, “i’ll think about it.”</p>
<p>Your optimism withers to a withdrawn sympathy. “I understand, take your time. I’ll talk to you later.” That simple, generic reassurance is enough to lighten the burden of fear in his bones. <em>Later</em>. You’re not done with him. He’ll see you again. This makes it easier to watch you leave, though it’s still bittersweet.</p>
<p>Fang follows you out, whispering something in your ear that he can’t quite catch. The dining room is silent once again. Black takes a moment to scrutinize the front door once you’ve disappeared behind it. Then, he shakes his skull. “You’re Too Predictable, Mutt. Scared That The Big Bad Human Therapists Are Going To Try To Take All Your Toys Away?”</p>
<p>“why the hell are you so damn eager? they’re vultures. they’ll tell us that everything we’ve done’s wrong. that we’re wrong and we’re better off doing as they say ‘n paying them for the privilege.”</p>
<p>“Hmph. My Reasons Are My Own. But Allow Me To Contribute A Thought, As You Ponder Your Decision. The Human—Y/N, You Plan To Stay In Her Life.”</p>
<p>“yeah…” Mutt replies warily, distrustful of the direction this may take.</p>
<p>“The Therapists She Suggested. They Are Experts On Matters Of The Human Mind. Do You Not Think That Having Access To That Knowledge May Prove…Useful?”</p>
<p>He doesn’t respond, waiting for Black to clarify.</p>
<p>“We Are From Another World. Quite Literally. You Are ‘Friends’ With Y/N, But Do You Truly Understand Her Expectations Of You? What You Can Expect From Her? The Rules Are Different Here. You’d Do Well To Learn What The Rules Are.” Black’s sternness becomes smug, almost playful. “Before You Can Break Them Most Effectively.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ruh-roh. Mutt’s been a naughty boy.<br/>We’re finally getting into the real OTP: Fellswap bros X Therapy. I ship it. Unfortunately, Mutt’s issues with authority and commitment seem to extend to the entire institution of psychiatry. Boo. C’mon, dude. He knows he wants to sit in those comfy chaise lounges and talk about his feelings.<br/>And Black…somehow makes agreeing to go to therapy seem menacing???<br/>Let me clarify, I def do not share Mutt’s views on therapists. Sure there is a sketchy history of pseudoscience in regard to mental health and mistreatment of vulnerable people but in modern times professional therapists are on our side and its worth finding one that you can trust to help you.<br/>Updated the summary. Thoughts?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fang leads you to the tree line around the side of the lodge. You’ve agreed to spend more time with him, as long as you’re a good distance away from the others. That’s fine by him. His alternates mostly stick to indoors, to the claustrophobic and noisy space they’ve situated for themselves. The high frequency buzzing of electronics and the flickering of unnatural light is discomforting. The smells are abrasive. He much prefers the lively dynamism of his own “room”, a hideout nestled in the wooded areas of their property.</p>
<p>It’s not without its inconveniences he realizes as he watches you stagger through the undergrowth. Fang follows a different route each time to avoid trampling the flora and leaving a visible trail. A hindrance to unwelcome visitors attempting to sniff him out; only friends with prior guidance can find his hideout. You progress carefully through the tangle of roots and grasses. He catches your gaze as you duck under a branch. You don’t seem overly bothered, only curious and cautious as you become accustomed to the bushwhacking. As you become more comfortable you focus less on following his footfalls and forge your own way beside him.</p>
<p>It’s preferable having you in his periphery, rather than needing to crane his neck back at you. However, he soon realizes this is a mistake.</p>
<p>The <em>snip</em> of a tripwire snapping is all the warning he gets. He leaps, scooping you in his arms and landing just out of reach of the weighted net. It creates a whooshing of air as it falls behind him, mussing your hair. You push the hair out of your face and absorb the situation.</p>
<p>“Your property is booby-trapped?” your arms entwine his neck, allowing yourself to be held bridal style. Besides a lifting of your brows, you’re thankfully unperturbed. “I thought that kind of thing was reserved for ancient tombs and cursed pyramids.”</p>
<p>He shakes his head. You’ve been watching too many adventure movies. “it’s security. there’s more. better hold on to you.”</p>
<p>His legs straighten and he adjusts his grip on your legs and back. The position is comforting. You’re right under his nose. Safe.</p>
<p>The journey continues as his long legs carry you efficiently to his den.</p>
<p>Fang doesn’t remember placing that trap. It must have been Papyrus, who has a fondness for ropes and nets. The traps should be harmless. They’re there to stop and restrain trespassers, not kill them. “Should” is the keyword. Most of the monsters living here indulge in setting traps to promote peace of mind. Not all of them have the same pacifist ideas about home intruders. In his wanderings, he’s discovered a handful of steel leghold traps and barbed snares. He won’t let you walk into one, not on his watch.</p>
<p>It feels right to protect you. Protection is what he was designed for, though you’re a much-preferred recipient of it than its original purpose. The Gaster of his universe was a paranoid monster, hoarding his machines and discoveries with a mad fervor. The other inhabitants of the underground were scheming to steal his ideas or dust him for daring to use science in novel ways. As a solution to this imaginary problem, Fang was created.</p>
<p>Created, edited, and spliced. Fang is distantly aware that there had been two past “editions” of him. Brothers, of a sort. The useful qualities of each were allowed to progress into the final version—him. A weapon that can incinerate any threat to Gaster’s vision. No teleporting. No gravity or healing magic. Those are superfluous to pure ATK and DEF. What Fang lacks in bells and whistles he doubles in strength and sharp senses.</p>
<p>The rest he owes to his training. He’d been given unlimited access to knowledge of human martial arts and monster combat strategy to hone himself. As for an intellectual education… Gaster had an odd way of mentorship. He’d speak in riddles, never giving straightforward answers, only leaving breadcrumbs of knowledge for Fang to sniff out. Information, about Gaster’s work and the outside world, was a privilege. One that he’d had to earn by tracking his creator’s slippery insinuations to their logical conclusion.</p>
<p>It was a sort of game they’d play. Gaster would drop hints and reward him with presents and pride if he pieced them together. Not a traditional or affectionate relationship, by any means, but it was all he had. No siblings. Severely limited contact with the “unenlightened” and “ignorant” other monsters. Alone, but not unhappily so, as he’d been designed for solitude. That’s what he thought, at least. It’s increasingly apparent that some social impulses remain. Impulses such as the longing for companionship that had propelled him to that embarrassing and overwhelming gathering where he’d met you.</p>
<p>Yes, there must be old sanctuaries of social nature in him, running deeper in his soul than Gaster’s scalpel could reach. What else could explain the blossoming of joy he feels as he releases you into the heart of his territory to share in his home?</p>
<p>He’s proud of his den. It’s located in a lovely copse of trees. His meditation rug is under an outcropping of rock, a backup sleeping spot, sheltered in case of rain. His hammock is situated to get sunlight during the best napping hours of the day and a clear view of the stars at night. A string of cotton connects two trees. Bundles of native flowers and herbs hang from it, agreeably fragrant as they dry. The flower crown you’d given him is among them. It’s lost the vibrancy of its coloring and the integrity of its shape, but it still pleases him to see it. A celebration of his small victories.</p>
<p>You circle the area, taking it all in. “Man, you have a good set up. If I had a place this nice, I’d booby-trap it too.”</p>
<p>Fang’s soul swells. You like it. He watches as you plop into the woven hammock, legs swinging over the side. It’s a bit too high for you, adjusted for his height. It’s also too large for you, swallowing you in ruffles of surplus material. If he joined you, it’d fit the both of you quite well. Snugly.</p>
<p>A claw absentmindedly traces his soul over his sweater and ribs. He wonders if your soul reacts the same way. Wanting to get closer…</p>
<p>He’d ask, but he needs to find the right words. It’s difficult for him to explain. He’ll need to scrutinize his own reactions before he can find out if they’re reciprocated.</p>
<p>Fang is distracted from this line of questioning by your weary sigh as your head falls to stare at the hands in your lap.</p>
<p>“Did I do the right thing?” you ask. Your posture is diffident, voice quiet. He doesn’t join you in his hammock-bed, instead opting to kneel in front of you.</p>
<p>He understands why you might feel guilty about telling Mutt and Black to go to therapy. It must’ve stung. If it’d been him, he would’ve felt…shameful. Might have thought that you saw him as incapable. He doesn’t envy Mutt and Black that blow to their pride. Yet, he knows its justified. Necessary even, to feel that sting as a part of recognizing your own shortcomings. They <em>are</em> incapable. Incapable or unwilling of being better, and your wellbeing is more important than their pride.</p>
<p>“I have no right to tell them they’re dysfunctional. Me,” you scoff in self derision. “I’ve lost all concept of what it means to be ‘healthy’. Since he—since it happened, I’ve spoken more to Black than I have to Mutt. That’s fucked up, isn’t it? Mutt’s my friend. And I know it’s not his fault. I should be making sure that <em>he</em> knows that it’s not his fault. But I’m too—”</p>
<p>You run a hand through your hair in frustration, leaning back into the hammock to stare up at the leafy canopy.</p>
<p>“I’m too caught up. It’s like I’ve been spun around with a blindfold on. My stomach is in knots and don’t know which direction is what anymore.”</p>
<p>An arm stretches skyward and falls back down to shield your eyes.</p>
<p>“I miss it, more than anything. That’s the worst part of this. Not the nightmares or the fear. It’s…I miss knowing what to do. It used to be easy and automatic. Now, I feel like I have to consult three research papers and ask everyone I know about it before I can get a crumb of confidence about what’s right and what’s wrong.”</p>
<p>Fang hums in understanding. He remembers that sense of unshakable strangeness from coming to the surface, a new system, and getting tangled in a game with unknown rules. The Fellswap brothers’ cling to their underground’s culture. Until they learn to let go, you’ll be forced to grapple with their incongruities more and more the closer you get to them.</p>
<p>He hadn’t been surprised when he’d followed the trail of your blood-scent to the basement and to the brothers’ bedrooms. Mutt and Black refuse to unlearn the outdated lessons from their punishing past and adapt. While he holds them accountable for your suffering, he sees his past self in them. The Fang that was confined by the cruel lessons of his own past. The version of himself that Gaster had taught him to be, aggressive and amoral.</p>
<p>It had been liberating to break free of those instincts, to take a step backwards in his mind and observe the workings of his consciousness as a bystander. It was all he could do with the nothingness of the surface. He’d been kept distracted underground. Too preoccupied to question, to stop and think. He’s sure that was intentional, on Gaster’s part. An attempt to keep him manipulatable and malleable. The time and autonomy grated on him, at first. He’d felt purposeless and restless. A fighting dog that had been freed from the ring but wanted nothing to do with retirement.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until Fang had stopped fighting against himself that he had the space in his mind for…peace. He let the nothingness wash over him in waves. Let the waves carry him away to a place of flow and focus. His senses alert but allowing a pause between stimulus and his reaction. A moment of reflection. Did he have to startle every time a branch snaps nearby? Bristle at each unfamiliar scent? Snarl and gnash his fangs at each threat?</p>
<p>The acknowledgement of his instincts was followed by a sprouting comprehension that his instincts aren’t <em>him</em>. They’re a part of him—a pattern. And he gets better at recognizing and regulating that pattern the more he tries.</p>
<p>Fang wishes he could share this newfound freedom with the others. It hurts to watch them repeat his old mistakes, but he doesn’t have the words to explain it, let alone teach it. Not that they’d listen to him. They see him as a failure, an eccentric recluse, or a kicked dog. You have a better chance of reaching them and convincing them to break their patterns of violence.</p>
<p>“uncertainty will pass,” he reassures you. He knows that his voice won’t be enough to banish that self-doubt. Maybe the same practices that helped him can assist you now? He can’t explain but he can show you. Guide you through it.</p>
<p>“I hope so. I don’t have the energy to fight this all the time. I’m exhausted.”</p>
<p>“can i help?”</p>
<p>“You’ve already helped. A lot.”  you emphasize, a coy but grateful smile gracing your lips.</p>
<p>“…more?” he amends, angling his eyelights up at you.</p>
<p>“Gah! Don’t use your cuteness against me! The puppy eyes…” you struggle with yourself for a moment before laughingly shaking it off. “Alright. You can help me more. But you have to promise to let me know you when you need help, got it?”</p>
<p>His inclination towards independence makes seeking other’s help…unusual. Unnatural. However, he’s capable of it. He will try. He’s about to verbalize his agreement when you extend your pinkie finger towards him expectantly. Fang hesitates, oscillating his eyes between your face and your outstretched little finger.</p>
<p>“Never made a pinkie promise before? It’s a human tradition. Symbolizes that whoever breaks their word gets their pinkie cut off. Don’t worry. Neither of us will loose phalanges. It’s just to show that you really mean it. Do you?”</p>
<p>You wiggle your little finger tauntingly. He raises his far most phalanges toward yours and it curves around his bones, interlocking.</p>
<p>“Good. Now what do you have in mind?”</p>
<p>Fang doesn’t reply. He hears a rustling in the distance. The snapping of a branch, a dozen yards to the east. He stands and turns to face it as the source of the noise announces itself.</p>
<p>“Knock Knock!” a lithe and boisterous skeleton heralds cheerily, “Hello Fang, I’m Here To—”</p>
<p>Blueberry brings his stride to a comically sudden halt on the outskirts of his den as he notices your presence. The tension is relieved from Fang’s stance as he realizes it’s only his friend, and not a certain <em>other</em> loud skeleton monster of similar height and build impinging on his territory.</p>
<p>“Oh, Y/N! You’re Here Too! How Serendipitous! I Was Just About To Invite Fang To A Backpacking Weekend Retreat And You Should Join Us! What Do You Say?”</p>
<p>Fang’s skull swivels toward you, intent on your response. It’d be too good to be true, being able to whisk you away from the ones who hurt you. Far away into the mountains where they’d have no knowledge of your location, unable to ‘shortcut’ to you and do any more damage. He’d have you to himself for a while. Well, himself and Blueberry.</p>
<p>You tap the corner of your mouth, thinking briefly. “I’d love to. When do we leave?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Designed for solitude but longing for companionship? Our introspective boi Fang just might be an introvert, lol.<br/>Fang analyzing his past: Hm, yes, my cruel upbringing left me with unhealthy urges, but those instincts are not me and I am in control of my own fate.<br/>Fang analyzing feelings for reader: owo, what’s this? Literally I have no idea send help</p>
<p>Reader is getting a much-deserved vacation from the resident edgy brothers and Author is getting a break from writing angst. Or am I :0</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Several weeks ago….</em>
</p><p>Blueberry is exhausted. Bone-tired, as Papy would say. He’d just completed a twelve-hour shift of protecting monster citizens from traffic violations and all of the running around and arguing with disgruntled rule-breakers took its toll. Swinging his legs off the motorbike, he removes his custom, star-covered safety helmet and returned it to its proper place on the shelf.</p><p>He ambles from the garage to the central kitchen, where his brother has stored tonight’s dinner leftovers. The microwave hums disagreeably as it spins around his plate of spaghetti. Blue doesn’t like eating at this time of night. All his “cousins” have retreated into their respective bedrooms and the house is eerily quiet. The only upside is that the PlayStation likely isn’t being used.</p><p>Aha! That’s how he’d cheer himself up, he thinks as he pokes the unevenly heated pasta around his plate. Nothing like video games after a rough day at work. Just an hour of playing a superhero and he’d go to bed. He hurriedly shovels down the sustenance and washes his dishes, reinvigorated now that he has a plan to look forward to. No light or sound is coming from the basement, so he hurries down the stairs to claim the gaming room.</p><p>As expected, the TV is off, and no one is using the consoles. He eagerly grabs his controller and begins to set everything up when he turns around to see he missed something.</p><p>The human. Fast asleep, one arm draped over the edge of the couch, the other tucked under the pillow your head is resting on. You look so serene, your H/C hair framing your face…he’s glad he didn’t wake you. But…could he still play video games? You are occupying most of the sofa.</p><p>Blueberry perches with crossed legs in the lazy boy. It didn’t have as good of an angle to the television, but it was worth it not to disturb you. He mutes the volume and lowers the brightness on the screen in case you’re a light sleeper.</p><p>The game boots up and he picks up on the level he left off, but he’s distracted. His eyes keep sliding over to your sleeping form. He’s been curious about you: Y/N, the human that hangs around with the mean version of himself and brother. He mentally corrects himself; they aren’t mean. Mutt isn’t mean to him, unless Papy is around. And Blackberry isn’t mean either, he’s just…bossy and—okay, yes, Blackberry is mean.</p><p>But you take it all in stride. It must be because of your soul type. Blue didn’t mean to pry, but he’d heard from Axe that you have a patience soul. He’s sad that the grumpy Axe had gotten to see it and not him. Blueberry would’ve appreciated it more. He is sure it’s a pretty shade of light blue, just like his magic.</p><p>His attention flows down to where your soul rests in your chest, invisible to him now. If he removed it…just for a second…he could see if you matched him. Compare your soul to his eyelights, or his tongue, or his—</p><p>No! What is he thinking? Blueberry couldn’t do that! Removing your soul without your permission is wrong. Even if it wouldn’t hurt you. Even if no one would know. He shakes his head, turning back to the game.</p><p>The protagonist spins around, taking down the bad guys with expert moves, at Blue’s command. It’s cathartic for him. Taking down enemies, saving the damsel in distress. This time, it’s a young woman being held hostage. One that looks kind of like you…</p><p>He does a double take between you and the video game character. No, you don’t look that alike. You are a lot more beautiful and kind looking. Still, he can’t shake the image of you as the one he is saving.</p><p>It’s like a fairytale. Blueberry is the strapping young knight, not as high ranking as his evil twin, but purer in heart. You are the princess, the sleeping beauty, being kidnapped and deceived by these corrupt, shadow versions of himself and Papy. He would rescue you. Protect you from everyone else and you’d love him for it.</p><p>It isn’t too late. Afterall, you are here on the couch, not in Mutt or Black’s bedroom so you must not be datemates.</p><p>His soul lurches. He couldn’t let you fall in love with Blackberry! That would be a tragedy, your pure and patient soul seeking his own but instead finding only a high LV alternate version of him. Confused and lonely, you would fall under the wicked brother’s spell. Only for Blueberry the Hero to bravely set you free! After seeing his valiance, you’d realize what a mistake you’d made, choosing anyone else over him. No one can compare to the Magnificent Blueberry, of course!</p><p>His giddy fantasy is interrupted by a sobering thought: How Am I Supposed To Break The Spell If There Is No Spell? If This Were A Real Fairytale All I’d Have To Do Is Kiss You…</p><p>Your plush lips, slightly parted in sleep, tempt him. He wishes it were that easy. But…even if kissing you didn’t change anything…he could still do it? It couldn’t hurt. Humans are supposed to like kissing. And maybe, just maybe, your kiss would give him the strength to do what he needed! Just like the stories!</p><p>He rises from the chair, silently. A mere brush of bone against your soft lips. So gentle, it wouldn’t wake you up. He takes an ever-so careful step towards you and—</p><p><em>Creeeeeak</em>.</p><p>The door to Mutt’s bedroom whines as it opens, revealing his pseudo-brother from behind it. His stare is blank, as always, but Blue thinks he sees an accusation in it and quickly backs down.</p><p>“H-Hello, Dog Of Mixed-Breed Origins That Is No Less Respectable Than Any Other Kind Of Dog! I Was Simply Playing A Video Game In A Quiet Manner So As To Not Disturb Your Resting Human Friend. However, I Am Now Very Tired And Will Go To Bed. Goodnight!”</p><p>Speedily powering down the system, Blueberry retreats from the basement and practically sprints up the stairs before Mutt can respond. He braces his back against his bedroom door, holding a hand over his throbbing soul. That was close. Too close, he thinks. Blueberry sinks to the floor, looking at the ceiling.</p><p>If only Mutt hadn’t been there. If only you’d been sleeping somewhere safer…like in his bed. He observes his bedframe, surrounded with glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the ceiling and walls, and imagines you bundled up in his navy-blue comforter. You would be much more comfortable here than on that couch. His sheets are clean, he washes them more than once a week with non-scented soap. They would smell only of you and him.</p><p>How? How could he make that happen? He’s not like his brother, with that teleportation magic. He couldn’t just “shortcut” you onto his bed. He’d have to be clever and brave.</p><p>…A sleepover! Yes, that would be perfect! He’d invite you over to a sleepover and the two of you can have fun together watching movies and playing games until you’re tired. Then, he’ll gallantly offer you his bed, while he sleeps on the floor beside you.</p><p>He shuts his eyelights and recalls your peacefully sleeping face. No matter what it takes, Blueberry will break the “spell”!</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Present day….</em>
</p><p>Blueberry cannot believe his luck. No, not luck, fate! Fate must be on his side for his noble quest!</p><p>His attempts to have a sleepover with you had derailed. You’d agreed, then suddenly pushed the date indefinitely into the future. Messages from you had gotten sparse and somber. He’d been worried he’d done something wrong, but here you are in front of him, friendly as can be. And now you and his pal Fang are all going backpacking together!</p><p>It may not be as good as his bed, but he could offer you space in his tent…or maybe in his sleeping bag? It gets chilly at night and humans are so sensitive to temperature! Blueberry will keep you warm!</p><p>He can hardly keep himself from bouncing in excitement as he mentally plans the excursion.</p><p>“This will be nice,” you hum, legs dangling off the edge of the off-white hammock. “Get away for the weekend. Roast some marshmallows and tell ghost stories over the campfire. All I ask is that we choose a dog-friendly trail so Wuffie can come with.”</p><p>“Of Course, I Would Love To Have The Wuffster With Us!” Blue loves dogs, especially the ones that match his boundless energy. The ones that paddle over water, even when they’re not in the water? Fantastic! He hopes your dog does that.</p><p>“wuffster?” Fang repeats with mirth.</p><p>“Between the three of us, I bet we can keep good track of her in the wild,” you speculate, grinning.</p><p>“Absolutely! Both You And Your Four-Legged Companion Will Be Perfectly Safe With Us, Y/N!”</p><p>“mhm.” Fang confirms, nodding intently at you.</p><p>“Nowhere safer, I’m sure.” you return Fang’s gesture with a nod of your own.</p><p>Your confidence in them brings stars to Blueberry’s eyelights. He’s elated that you’d entrust him with your wellbeing. He won’t let you down.</p><p>“What do I need to bring?”</p><p>“Only The Clothing And Snacks You Want With You! Fang And I Have Plenty Of Camping Gear. The Tent Only Fits Two People Though…” Blue grins apologetically at Fang.</p><p>“’s ok. got my hammock.” <em>Perfect</em>.</p><p>A realization dawns on you and you leap from your seat. “Fuck, I’ve been sitting on your bed this whole time, haven’t I? How rude of me.”</p><p>“Language!” Blueberry squeaks, a force of habit even though his baby brother isn’t in earshot.</p><p>“stay.” Fang insists. “i don’t mind.”</p><p>A sliver of a slimy feeling slides into Blueberry’s soul. <em>He Doesn’t Mind, Huh? I Bet He Doesn’t. And I Know Why, Too.</em> Fang got to have you in his bed, but Blue didn’t? He tried and Fang didn’t have to try at all! A pang of hurt rakes his ribcage. He glares at the other skeleton. That’s not fair!</p><p>Blue shakes his skull and shoves that sliminess to the side. It’s not Fang’s fault. He doesn’t know. Fang is his friend. He would never hurt Blueberry on purpose.</p><p>“No, that’s alright. Even if you don’t mind, it’s getting late. I should go home.”</p><p>The sky is darkening. Soon it would be a challenge for your human eyes to navigate the obstacles of the undergrowth.</p><p>“I’ll Walk You To Your Car!” Blueberry volunteers. You accept and he sees you off safely, already eager for the day he’ll see you again.</p><p>When the day arrives, Blueberry is up with the sun. Dawn is breaking and alighting the piles of supplies occupying the floor of his room. One stack of neatly folded clothes, a heap of cooking gear, and fire-starting supplies lined up on display so each important item could be crossed off the list before being sorted into the large grey backpack.</p><p>He rips into a cardboard package he’d had express delivered. A human first aid kit. Now that Y/N is joining the trip, Blue must prepare accordingly. His healing magic is…lacking. He can repair small bruises and scrapes but even in childhood Stretch stuck to safety, so Blue rarely got the chance to develop his healing talents. If you were injured, there’s not much his magic could do for you besides ease the pain. He pilfers through the kit, rather unimpressed with its contents. Bandages? Tweezers? Gauze? It’s so…simple. It doesn’t seem like enough.</p><p>Blueberry packs it and checks it off his list, regardless. Hopefully, there will be no need to rely on such things as he and Fang will protect you from all harm! He achieves a burst of satisfaction as he checks off each task. Finally, only one item remains—saying goodbye to Stretch.</p><p>It’d upset them both if he left without a word. They’ll miss each other. He knows as the responsible and mature older brother he shouldn’t encourage dependency, but he can’t help it! They’ve never been separated for long. Even a few days camping trip is enough to get homesick for his family.</p><p>It’s before noon, Stretch is likely still sleeping. Blue gives a perfunctory knock on his brother’s bedroom door. If he can’t rouse the lazybones, he’ll simply tuck him in and leave a note. He opens the door into the messy monstercave. The bed is empty and unmade. Is it possible that Stretch had gotten up early for a productive start to his day? The burgeoning pride vanishes before it is fully formed as the other skeleton is spotted at his desk, playing on the computer.</p><p>Blueberry waves his phalanges in front of Stretch’s skull, catching his attention from the video game and prompting him to remove his headphones.</p><p>“Good Morning, Papyrus.” Blue greets sternly as he wonders, “Are You Up Early, Or Staying Up <em>Very</em> Late?”</p><p>Stretch smiles sheepishly. “staying up late. wanted to see you off. and finish this questline…”</p><p>Blueberry’s soul warms with love from the caring gesture as his caretaker reflexes cringe at his brother’s casual sleep deprivation. It can’t be helped. He’s beyond policing Stretch’s behavior. They’re both adult monsters and Papy can make his own decisions. That won’t keep Blue from disapproving, though. There are shadows under Stretch’s eyesockets and empty cartons of energy drinks and freezer meals littering the desk, damning evidence of the all-nighter.</p><p>“That Is Very Sweet And Very Irresponsible Of You!” Blue tugs Stretch out of his desk chair into a bear hug. “Please Take Care Of Yourself While I’m Away.”</p><p>He pulls away and grabs a nearby empty cup of noodles container, wagging it critically. “Eat Real Food! Get Real Sleep! You’ll Get Square Eyes If You Stare At That Screen Too Long.”</p><p>“don’t think that’s true. if it were, it’d be pretty cool. might look better in photos, with all those right angles.”</p><p>“Mweheheh! I Walked Into That One. But It Is True! I Read About It On A Human Website.”</p><p>“bro…we’ve talked about this. not all human content is trustworthy.”</p><p>“How Am I Supposed To Tell?” Blue pouts, “The Article Seemed So Sincere!”</p><p>“it’s easy. just stick to the websites i taught you about and don’t click on sketchy ads.”</p><p>“It’s Easy <em>For You</em> Because You’re My Very Smart And Tech-Savvy Brother! I Try To Do As You Taught Me, But Sometimes The Webpage Changes With Me Doing Anything. The Ads Move Around! It Changes And Then I Can’t Find My Way Back. Then I End Up Learning About Square Eyes And The Top Ten Health Hacks Doctors Don’t Want Me To Know About.”</p><p>Stretch rolls his eyelights and Blueberry folds his arms in frustration. Surface technology baffles him. Not its complexity, but its ubiquity. He’d seen plenty of fancier innovations in Undyne’s lab back home. But here…it’s everywhere and everyone is expected to know how to use it flawlessly. It’s made learning about this world more challenging than it should be. Blueberry is old fashioned and believes the best way to exchange information is face to face, or <em>maybe</em> in books and librarbys. That’s why he only uses search engines as a last resort. He saves his questions for a reliable monster. Nine times out of ten, that monster is Stretch.</p><p>“By The Way, Do You Know If Human First Aid Kits Work On Dogs?”</p><p>“uhhh…i guess? humans and their pets are made of the same fleshy stuff.” Stretch scratches his jawbone thoughtfully. “their medication is different, though. don’t give dogs human pills. or chocolate. or grapes. think i read that somewhere…why? you thinking about getting a pet?”</p><p>“Ooo, Maybe We Should! A Big Fluffy Dog To Accompany Me On My Jogs, Or A Lazy Cat To Share Your Afternoon Naps…Ah, But No, That Is Not Why. I Ask Because Y/N Is Bringing Her Dog To Our Backpacking Retreat And I Want To Be Prepared!”</p><p>“y/n, huh?”</p><p>Blue bonks the top of Stretch’s skull gently. “Don’t Look So Sour, Your Skull Could Get Stuck Like That! There Is No Need To Be Suspicious Of Y/N. If You Met Her You’d Know That. You Should Get To Know Her. I’ve Met All Your Friends, You Should Meet All Of Mine!”</p><p>“it’s not the same.” Stretch’s shoulders scrunch somberly. “you’re good with strangers. i’m not.”</p><p>“You’re Good At Anything You Set Your Mind To. If You Stay Patient With Yourself And Keep Trying, Soon There Will Be No Strangers, Only Future Friends!”</p><p>“you say that, but…” he sinks into the chair with a grimace, “i’m not ready.”</p><p>“That Is Alright. But Until You’re Ready, You’ll Need To Trust Me And My Judgement Of Y/N’s Character.”</p><p>“ok. love you, bro.”</p><p>“I Love You Too.”</p><p>“stay safe this weekend.”</p><p>“Always. Goodbye!”</p><p>“bye…”</p><p>Blueberry hesitates before leaving the room, watching to make sure Stretch is making good on his instruction to quit gaming and get some rest. Once assured, Blue steps into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. He checks the clock. Still another hour before you’re expected to arrive. To pass the time, he cooks himself a filling breakfast burrito and packs some supplies onto his motorcycle, leaving the rest by the door to be loaded into your car. Fang would rather carpool with you than squeeze into a sidecar or hold onto him the whole way, so you would be stopping by here instead of meeting them in the forest.</p><p>A knock on the front door has Blueberry leaping from his seat. That must be you! He swings the door open to discover Fang has already found your side and taken the liberty of loading your vehicle. He’s a bit disappointed that he missed the chance to help. However, that barely matters as it’s official now…the best backpacking trip ever is ready to begin!</p><p>“Let’s Hit The Road!” Blueberry cheers, straddling his motorbike and setting off.</p><p>The wind wooshes through his skull. He likes to imagine he’s harnessing its energy as he cuts through it. It’s exhilarating! The road into the forest is has the perfect recipe for joyrides: smooth asphalt, gentle curves, and lovely greenery in all directions. He allows himself to savor the existential pleasures of motion and speed.</p><p>The drive flies passed him. By the end of it, Blue is beyond pumped and energized for a beautiful training excursion! He parks at the trailhead. You weren’t far behind him and pull up across the road a minute later.</p><p>As soon as a car door is opened, Wuffie, sick of being cooped up, leaps from it and bounds towards him. Even if her tail weren’t wagging, the way her long fur bounces with each leap is enough to make her overenthusiastic approach distinctly nonthreatening. It’s flattering, even, that she’d give him her attention. Does she remember him?</p><p>He leans with his hands on his knees, welcoming her, “Hello, Friend!”</p><p>Upon hearing his voice, Wuffie slows her advance to a dawdle as she sniffs the air around him. A sharp exhale and another round of snuffles, the collie’s wet nose tickling his phalanges. After her thorough smell inspection, she loses interest and wanders off. “Wait, Come Back! I Want To Pet You!”</p><p>She ignores him in favor of circling your feet as you pull on your knapsack. You frown as you watch her, admonishing, “C’mon Wuffie. Blue isn’t <em>him</em>. Don’t get your hopes up.”</p><p>Him? Did Wuffie mistake him for Blackberry? It can happen. They are super alike, after all. But the idea that she prefers his alternate…it irks him. Surely Blueberry is sweeter and more caring, it’s just that she hasn’t gotten a chance to see that yet. Wuffie’s trained with Black. He’s what she’s used to. Once Blueberry has gotten some quality with the collie, she’ll see that he’s the better companion.</p><p>It’s a trial…a test! He must do his best to gain the approval of your dearest Wuffie to convince you of the trueness of his character! He’s read that dogs are good judges of such things. Humans aren’t good at sensing the souls of themselves or those around them, but Blue wonders if dogs are better at it.</p><p>He observes Wuffie with new eyes. She seems carefree as she inspects her new environment, pawing at the soft ground and chasing bugs. But, she keeps at least one of her ears swiveled in your direction when you speak, and every so often she’ll turn and monitor your movements. A cute, fun-loving, and noble guardian. Blue can’t help but respect that. And he’ll try to ensure that respect becomes reciprocated!</p><p>But for now, he’ll focus on his central goal for this trip, to hike and train to exhaustion! He packed the heaviest backpack for himself. He lifts it onto himself and adjusts the straps. His posture bends to accommodate the weight. This amount of resistance is optimal for the walk in the woods to become a challenging workout. The journey begins, with Wuffie taking the lead, Y/N only a few short strides behind.</p><p>Once the trail opens up enough for Blueberry to squeeze besides you, he does, spilling the details of his latest undertakings. The trail winds through towering trees before coming to hug the side of the mountain.</p><p>There are moments where Blueberry remembers that he should quiet himself and enjoy the sounds of the forest, but it’s hard to stop talking when he’s this excited! Talking to you in person is better and faster than texting. And there’s so much to say to you!</p><p>“Work Has Been Busy Lately, So Fang Has Been Helping Me With My Garden! We’re Growing Squash, Carrots, Beans, And Strawberries.”</p><p>“and echoflowers.”</p><p>“And Echoflowers, But They’re Not For Me, I Promise!”</p><p>“That’s alright, Blue. You know…there’s no harm in letting loose once in a while. I won’t judge you for it.”</p><p>“mm,” Fang seconds with a flicker of amusement.</p><p>“Well, Nothing Is Ready To Harvest Yet. They Are Merely Sproutlings.” Blue insists, unsure how to react to the both of you giving him permission for him to indulge in disreputable substances like echoflowers!</p><p>“It wouldn’t hurt for you to ask for less hours, either. Does the Royal Guard not give their employees that kind of flexibility?”</p><p>“The Royal Guard Is A Very Fair And Upstanding Institution! They Would Understand If I Needed Time Off, But…” How to put it? “Work Is Busy Because More Monsters Need My Help. If I Don’t Keep Up With The Workload, I’d Be Letting Them Down.”</p><p>“Hmm. And how does your brother feel about this?”</p><p>Blueberry slows his pace slightly and sighs, “He’d Agree With You, That I Should Work Less Hours And Take More Time For Myself And My Family. I Love Him, But When It Comes To Societal Responsibility…My Brother Is Clueless About That Stuff.”</p><p>You pause. He turns and finds you staring at nothing, an odd look on your face.</p><p>“Are You All Right?”</p><p>The expression recedes and you meet his worried eyes with a strange curiosity. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just déjà vu.”</p><p>The trek continues and an hour before sunset they make camp, a good way off the trail. The spot was chosen for its flat patches of rock, perfect for hosting a campfire. The tent is pitched, and Fang hangs his hammock in a grouping of trees a few yards away. By the time everything is set up, Blue can tell by your sluggish motions that you’re tired from the day’s training.</p><p>An illicit thrill invigorates him. If you’re exceptionally exhausted, you’ll sleep extra deeply. Sleeping deeply…right next to him, whose energy is spiking from this realization. Tonight will be perfect. Even better than his original plan.</p><p>He occupies himself with preparing dinner while the sun dips below the horizon. Their evening meal is a feast of hot dogs and s’mores around the fire. The fire crackles pleasantly. Its reddish glow illuminates your face from below, casing ghoulish shadows.</p><p>You claim it’s a necessary tradition to tell ghost stories on a night like this one, spinning a tale about a child whose untimely death, in a forest not dissimilar to the one they’re in, lead them on a path of revenge against all campers. When Blue explains that ghosts aren’t scary because he knows one and he’s actually quite friendly, you improvise a story designed to spook him. A bone-eating ghoul that steals the limbs of unsuspecting skeletons. She softens them up with her acidic saliva then snaps the bones with her vicelike jaws.</p><p>Blueberry is not scared by this. He is a brave monster. If this terrifying bone eating creature did exist, he would slay it! When a droplet of water hits the top of his skull, he flinches, but not because he’s afraid. Once he processes that the liquid on his skull isn’t the corrosive drool of a beast about to split his spine with its teeth, he’s relieved and disheartened.</p><p>Rain? He didn’t prepare for that. You catch up to his frustration when a few fat raindrops sneak passed the leaves and drop onto your head.</p><p>“Oh no. We’ve got to get Wuffie in the tent before she can find herself a puddle of mud to lay in! I’m not dealing with that again!”</p><p>“Come Here, Wuffles! Follow Us!”</p><p>He helps wrangle her into the tiny two-person tent. Once Fang douses the fire, he joins them. The space is cramped, well passed its capacity. The taller skeleton has to bend to allow for his height, his spine scraping the top of the enclosure. For a few heartbeats you all dwell this turn of events as the rain pours down. It patters against the tent’s taut polyester walls. You adjust your position and hit your head against the bottom of Fang’s ribcage.</p><p>“Ouch,” you exclaim, clutching the sore spot.</p><p>“sorry,” he laments, trying to make himself as compressed and out of the way as possible. “i’ll leave.”</p><p>“No, it’s okay. It was an accident. My fault. I’m not kicking you out in the rain.”</p><p>“Did You Bring A Tarp For Your Hammock?” Blue questions hopefully. The other skeleton shoots down this hope with the shake of the skull. His frustration mounts. He knows where this is going before you explicitly say it.</p><p>“I guess you’ll be sleeping in the tent with us tonight, Fang.”</p><p>Fang scrutinizes the space, the two sleeping bags and medium sized dog bed filling the floor. “…how?”</p><p>Possibilities whirl through Blueberry’s brain. Maybe things weren’t going the way he’d planned. It’s okay. He can salvage this. Heroes always do.</p><p>“I Read A Lifehack Article The Other Day. It Said Something About Zipping Two Sleeping Bags Together To Make A Big Mega Sleeping Bag For Multiple People! It Might Be Enough To Fit Us All.”</p><p>“Good idea, Blue. Let’s try it.”</p><p>He glows with your praise. He assembles the mega sleeping bag, carefully not to bump into anything or step on the Wuffster who’s restlessly exploring the tent’s interior. The result is mismatched but comfortable looking. You take the initiative and get in first. Fang and Blue follow, entering on either side of you.</p><p>It’s a tight fit. Fang is large enough to take up more than half of the available space. Blue is squished between you and the boundary of the sleeping bag. You squirm between the skeletons, trying to find a comfortable position. He knows you’re getting the rough end of this deal. They get to sleep against your soft, plush skin while you have to get poked and jabbed by bones all night.</p><p>“It certainly is…warm,” you speak, diffusing some of the tension. Warm? Is that why your face is flushed? The heat of their collective bodies coalesces in the sleeping bag and makes them resistant to the chill of the night air. “Is this okay for everyone?”</p><p>“I-I’m Okay.” Blue tries very hard to keep his voice from pitching.</p><p>A low rumbling, sourced in Fang’s ribcage, teases at the edges of his hearing. A purr, Blue realizes with some embarrassment. You must have sensed it too as you acknowledge it with a laugh.</p><p>“Is that a yes, Fang?”</p><p>“mm.”</p><p>“Then it’s settled. Goodnight guys.” your weariness is evident in your tone. You adjust your position once more. When satisfied, your lids slip closed.</p><p>“Goodnight Y/N! Goodnight Fang and Wuffie!”</p><p>“’night.”</p><p>Blueberry shuts off his eyelights but keeps his other senses alert. He listens to your breaths even out. Your scent is unavoidable at this proximity. A natural fragrance that relaxes and stimulates him. He tries to control his own breathing, funneling immense effort into projecting unconsciousness. Minutes pass. Occasionally you’ll slither you arm up to itch your face or swallow and sniff. You weren’t asleep yet, but it’d be soon.</p><p>Fang’s voice shocks him out of his concentration on you. “y/n?”</p><p>You inhale and arch your neck back towards Fang, whispering, “Yeah?”</p><p>“about our promise. i…need help.”</p><p>“Oh. What do you need?”</p><p>“can’t sleep.”</p><p>You snort lightly. “It’s not lifesaving, but I think I can assist. Here.” Blueberry feels you turn away from him, hears your arms rustling the fabric. Then…a soft scratching? “Whenever I couldn’t sleep as a kid, my mom would give me back rubs. It’s nothing as complicated as a real massage. Just simple strokes, to relax and comfort. Does that feel okay?”</p><p>“mm,” his hum is barely audible above the rumbling in his ribcage. It goes on for longer than Blueberry would like. He’s split. He’d like to ask you to help him fall asleep as well, but he’s supposed to already be asleep. Should he give up the rouse?</p><p>“That’s all for now, my arm’s getting a bit tired.” You flip back over, putting your back to Fang. “But if it helps, you can share my pillow.”</p><p>There’s a gentle tug on the roof of the sleeping bag as he turns to the foam pillow, craning his skull over yours to settle together. It must’ve been enough, as soon his purr transitions into a soft snore. You follow him into unconsciousness a minute later.</p><p>Blueberry cautiously opens his eyelights. He’s rewarded with a lovely view of your face not far from his own. Fate be praised for his night vision. With aching gradualness, he raises a hand to your face and slowly traces your lips with a phalange. So close…</p><p>If he leaned close enough to kiss you, he’d bump his skull against Fang’s and wake him up. A situation that Blue would very much rather avoid. That’s alright. It’s impossible to feel any sense of failure because you’re still so <em>close</em>. He adjusts his leg until it’s against yours, your skin alighting the length of his femur. He suppresses a shiver.</p><p>He caresses your face, cradling your cheek in his carpals. His other hand slides down your neck, your lovely collarbone, the top of your breasts exposed by your loose tank top. Blueberry finds himself wishing to remove the covering, blocking the feel of more silky skin, but he knows that it would be terribly dishonorable to disrobe a lady without permission.</p><p>Instead, he lets his hands explore you over the fabric. He gingerly nudges at your ribcage, feeling the gaps in the bone expand and contract with your breathing. His phalanges creep upwards. He takes a deep breath and carefully cups your cleavage. For several moments he holds, reveling in the cushiness, before the temptation is too much and he gives them a subtle squeeze.</p><p>Blueberry is in heaven. He’s distracted, by not so far gone that he misses your slight whine and the fluttering of your eyes behind your lids. His hands retreat to hovering just above your flesh as he watches you. Even without the touch your eye’s motion continues. Ah, he’s read about this. Humans do it when they dream. Relief allows him to lower his hands. One finds a home in the dip of your waist, the other in the curve of your hip. He wants to touch your rear, but in doing so he might accidentally graze Fang nestled behind you.  </p><p>His skull forgoes his pillow to rest against the comfort of your chest. He snuggles against you and all thoughts about detangling himself are forgotten. They float into the back of his head as he drifts off, joining you in sleep.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ah yess Fang and Blueberry, the ideal threesome—of hikers on a backpacking trip. Happy to help and eager to please ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)<br/>I like my Blueberry to be a nice balance of wholesome cutie and delusional creep. His plan didn’t quite work out. But author’s plan, operation skeleton sandwich, worked out beautifully. To be continued in the next chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first time you wake, it is in the darkness. The rain has abated. Distant coyotes bark and yip.  Your side is sore. You twist and encounter some resistance to the change. You weasel your way onto your back and drift off.</p>
<p>The second time you wake, the barest beginnings of dawn are brightening the tent. It filters through the colored polyester, endowing everything a green glow. You’d dreamt. It seems the primal lizard part of your brain noticed your friendly bed sharing and took liberties in its interpretation of the situation. The contents of your dreams are slippery and quickly forgotten, but the emotions they’d summoned linger. Arousal. A reluctant yearning. The dream was decadent. An illogical, horny part of you misses the pleasure.  </p>
<p>A pluck of guilt thrums uncomfortably. Fang and Blue have never shown the slightest non-platonic interest in you and here you are having wet dreams about them. They trusted you to share their sleeping bag and you feel as if you’ve betrayed that trust somehow.</p>
<p>You lay with the guilt. Once you’re sick of it, you try a trick your therapist suggested. Instead of judging an action as something you’d done, with all your internal biases, you pretend a friend did the same thing. Would you think that friend had done something wrong? Should they feel guilty? The answer comes quickly. No, you wouldn’t blame someone for their dreams. It’s out of their control. Out of your control.</p>
<p>The remorse lightens somewhat. Your attention shifts from your mental state to your body as you prepare to fall back asleep. You’re unsure what time it is, but Fang and Blue are early risers and they are still asleep. That means it’s far too early for you. Your limbs stretch and resettle. You shift and strategically buffer the bony bodies of your bedmates with the more cushioned parts of you.</p>
<p>As you recline and relax, you become aware of the press of something behind you. The sensation is familiar. Your lizard brain recognizes it and automatically adjusts your hips. Not as hard as bone. About as hard as—Fang shifts behind you, sleepily pulling you into his chest. Yup. That’s a boner. Blood flushes your face as the information sinks in. Skeletons can get morning wood. Not something you’d expected to learn from this trip. With all the sex jokes Mutt makes, you’d assumed that they’d have some sort of equipment. Still, this is…</p>
<p>Your thighs twist and turn restlessly.</p>
<p>A realization materializes. Can Fang…smell you? He smelt your blood when he was in an entirely different section of the house. With you right next to him, pressed against him, it is painfully likely that he’s able to sense the slickness wetting your panties. You lift your head, searching his skull. His sockets are empty. Still asleep, thank god. You bury your red face in the pillow and press your legs together. It’s too early for this, you decide, and count sheep until your heart rate lowers and you slip back asleep.</p>
<p>The third and final time you wake up that morning, the sun is shining rather obnoxiously through the open door-flap. The smell of bacon and eggs persuades you to surrender the last of your slumbering and sit up. The tent is empty. You hear Blueberry chattering nearby. It’s surprising that you hadn’t been woken by it earlier. He isn’t known for his volume control. Through the unzipped windows you spot Wuffie following him, tail wagging, as he loads a plate with sustenance.</p>
<p>You’re about to get up and join him, but he enters the tent and usher you down, handing you a plate.</p>
<p>“Good Morning, Y/N! Did You Sleep Well?”</p>
<p>“I did,” you answer, salivating at the feast in front of you. He sits with crossed legs to your side, his own meal in his lap. Wuffie is shortly behind, drool visibly dripping from her maw as she eyes the dish. “Breakfast in bed? Blueberry, you spoil me!”</p>
<p>“We Didn’t Want To Disturb You,” an odd dreamy look crosses his face in between bites of breakfast. “You Were Sleeping So Soundly!”</p>
<p>Fang joins you, sitting on the sleeping bag, his own plate piled up with bacon.</p>
<p>“How long have you guys been up?”</p>
<p>“Just Long Enough To Cook And Scout The Area. Did You Know There’s An Abandoned Mine Nearby?” he asks with evident excitement.</p>
<p>“I didn’t,” you answer with your mouth half-full. “But I’m guessing you want to check it out?”</p>
<p>“We Can’t Turn Away From The Opportunity Of Adventure! Who Knows What Could Be In Those Tunnels? There Could Be Treasure Left Behind!”</p>
<p>Despite his dragon-like characteristics you notice Fang doesn’t seem interested in the prospect of treasure. He is singularly focused on devouring the delightfully crispy bacon in front of him.</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t mind an adventure,” you think aloud, “Could be nice to get a break from the heat now that the sun’s out again. If you’re sure going underground wouldn’t be…weird, for either of you.”</p>
<p>Being trapped underground for generations couldn’t have made monsters keen on returning to caves and tunnels. Blueberry hardly hesitates to insist, “I’m Not Afraid.”</p>
<p>“Fang?”</p>
<p>He pauses chewing, swallowing before noncommittally muttering, “’s fine.”</p>
<p>“Then we’ll explore the mine before continuing to the waterfall.” you lick the remnants of food off your fingers and lower the plate for Wuffie to scavenge. “That was delicious. Thank you both.”</p>
<p>“’s nothing.”</p>
<p>“You Are Very Welcome!”</p>
<p>You feed Wuffie a proper meal of dog kibble from your pack and help break camp. The moisture from the previous night’s downpour hasn’t entirely evaporated, leaving most of the equipment heavy with dampness. Your companions don’t seem to mind the extra weight, however, and your pace continues at a consistent stride.</p>
<p>You reach the abandoned mine before the sun is at its peak. There’s a chill, standing at its entrance. You retrieve your flashlight from your pack, while your friends seem content to face the impending blackness without equipment. You make sure your grip on your collie’s leash is solid. This is hardly the place for her to be running off.</p>
<p>“It’s So Menacing,” Blueberry whispers as he leads them passed the entrance. The stone is slick with the fresh rainfall. Rivulets of water drip from the ceiling and slide down the walls. It is wide and empty. Deeper into the earth, it diverges into different paths. “Do You Think Anything Lives Down There?”</p>
<p>“I sure hope not,” your voice echoes slightly. You trust your company to keep you safe, but you’d rather not risk the integrity of the tunnels with Fang’s powerful energy breath.</p>
<p>The natural light dims to nonexistence as you approach the first split in the path. The air is musky and slightly sulphuric. Your flashlight illuminates a few square feet at a time. You swivel it around the entrance to each bisection while you and your companions’ eye your options.</p>
<p>“This Way! I See Something,” Blueberry exclaims, running outside the range of your lamp down the left tunnel. When he turns around to wait for you to catch up, you follow the glow of his eyelights floating in the dark. “Look!”</p>
<p>He points to a rickety railway secured into the stone. It doesn’t look like much more than a tripping hazard to you. You share a look with Fang, but you both keep quiet and allow Blue his excitement.</p>
<p>“If We Follow It To The End, We Might Find A Mine Cart,” the boundary of his pupils wobble and form the points of stars. “Overflowing With Gold And Diamonds And Swords With Jewels In Them!”</p>
<p>“That’d be nice,” you start, “but I’m more interested in your eyes.” Against the gloom of the cave the dramatic shift of the bright magic is fascinating.</p>
<p>“Maiden…Are You Saying That My Eyes Are More Interesting Than All The Gems And Riches Of The Earth?”</p>
<p>“I mean—how they work! They can change size and shape. They produce their own light.” you switch off your light to observe the two in darkness. The pairs of monster eyes are undisturbed by the loss of light source, remaining pinned on you. “You can still see me?”</p>
<p>“mhm.”</p>
<p>“Yup!”</p>
<p>It’s…eerie, but in a cartoonish way. Ominous to be watched by beings you can’t fully see. Nonthreatening because one of those beings is literally starry-eyed and his cheekbones are ever so slightly dusted with blue light. Is it a reflection of the light from his eyes, or can their magical blushes glow in the dark?</p>
<p>“Hang on. Close your eyes, I want to see something.”</p>
<p>They acquiesce and a truer darkness blinds you. You can’t so much as see your own hand in front of your face. It’s an extra effort to stay steady without sight. Wuffie doesn’t seem as perturbed by it, still tugging at the leash as she tries to explore. You don’t budge and focus on fulfilling your curiosity.</p>
<p>“Have I mentioned that you both look extra handsome today?”</p>
<p>“But Y/N…You Can’t Even See Us Right Now!”</p>
<p>Fang contributes a confused rumble to Blue’s protest.</p>
<p> “I saw you earlier,” you point out, “and you looked handsome.”</p>
<p>“O-Oh. Thank You?”</p>
<p>Fang mutters to himself, perplexed, “is handsome better than ‘cute’?”</p>
<p>You shake your head at yourself. You’re going to need to step up your game to get these boys blushing. <em>For science! </em>Since compliments didn’t work, you’ll have to take a page out of Mutt’s book and employ a pun-filled pick up line.</p>
<p>“You know, after we’re done with this mine, I’ve got some tunnels for you to delve into.”</p>
<p>Blueberry chokes on air.</p>
<p>“A cave to explore. Stalac-<em>tight</em>. There’s even a hidden treasure.”</p>
<p>Sure enough, your retinas pick up a new source of light, a flush of blue on his skull. Success! But Fang hasn’t followed. You can make out the tilt of his head in the cerulean glow.</p>
<p>“cave? is this a riddle?”</p>
<p>“No, Friend. Y/N Is Being Lewd,” Blue pouts in your general direction, scandalized, “Mutt Must Have Rubbed Off On You.”</p>
<p>“Mutt only wishes he could rub off on me,” you laugh at your own joke, having far too much fun. They’re too pure. You’re beginning to understand why that shameless skeleton enjoys this so much.</p>
<p>“a lewd riddle…” Fang ponders aloud. His imagination must have led him somewhere sufficiently flustering as his skull colors with that lovely azure light.</p>
<p>“Sorry for teasing you, you can open your eyes now. I had to see for myself if your blushes are luminescent. They are, by the way.”</p>
<p>The coloring on their cheekbones remains visible but is outshined by the brightness of their eyelights as they blink back open. “Really, Y/N,” Blue scolds, his tone reminiscent of a hall monitor. He uncrosses his arms and quickly adds, “I Forgive You.”</p>
<p>Fang doesn’t reply to your apology, distracted by his thoughts. He doesn’t appear upset with you, though.You’re about to turn your flashlight back on when Blueberry stops you. “Wait! Is It Okay If I Test Something Too?”</p>
<p>You’re getting skittish in this oppressive darkness. Their eyes, glowing in the nothingness, aren’t scary per se—you’re not frightened of Fang or Blue. They’re your trusted friends. But it scratches something in the back of your subconscious. Makes you feel small. Vulnerable. You suppose it’s only fair to accept the same treatment you’d subjected them too. You can endure the feeling long enough for Blue to have his experiment. “It’s alright with me,” you shrug. “Go ahead, Blue.”</p>
<p>“You Can Keep Your Eyes Open, I’ll Need Your Participation,” his eyelights bob as he takes a few steps towards you. “I Want To See If Your Soul Is Bright Enough To Be Used Like A Flashlight!”</p>
<p>“My soul—?”</p>
<p>“—her soul?” Fang says at the same time as you, breaking out of his daze.</p>
<p>“Yeah! We Can Use Our Magic As A Light Source. Don’t You Want To Know If Y/N Can Do The Same Thing, With The Magic In Her Soul?”</p>
<p>Now that Blue mentions it, you are kind of curious about that. You have this magical, culmination of your being inside of you. Does it glow? Can you used it to see in dark places? A soul flashlight. It’s too bizarre an idea to pass up on, and you know they won't touch it or use it against you.</p>
<p>
  <strike>Like you’d done to Black.</strike>
</p>
<p>“if y/n’s ok with it,” Fang mutters, moving closer to you.</p>
<p>“I am.”</p>
<p>“Then Let’s Try It!”</p>
<p>There’s a chill as the cyan heart is removed from the shelter of your chest and exposed to the cold cavern air. You shiver. There’s an aura around your soul, that beautiful blue, but you’re unsure if it’s sourced from your soul or a reflection of your friend’s magic.</p>
<p>“Wowie. It’s Pretty.” Blueberry notes, leaning in to get a better look. “And We Match!”</p>
<p>“I can’t tell if it’s glowing or not. Can you guys close your eyes again?”</p>
<p>He objects moodily, “But, I—!”</p>
<p>“I need to be able to tell if my soul produces light on its own. That’s the whole point of this, right?”</p>
<p>“Yeah,” he sighs and shuts his eye sockets. “Right.”</p>
<p>Fang lifts his gaze from your soul to Blue’s face for a searching look. An unrecognizable expression crosses his skull. The light is too dim and it’s over too quickly. Once both their eyelights are extinguished, you curl over your soul, watching it in wonderment. You cup it, and its gentle radiance lights the shadows in your hands and washes your skin with sapphire. It’s incredible. You’ve seen it a few times now, but this is the first time you’ve had a solitary moment to admire it. Is it narcissistic to be impressed by your own soul? You wonder what happened if you touched it. Would you feel your own intention? Your own memories?</p>
<p>Blueberry interrupts your reflecting, “Can I Open My Eyes Now?”</p>
<p>“Not yet. It glows, but I can’t tell if its bright enough to be used like a torch.”</p>
<p>You remove your hands sheltering your soul. It bounces light off the nearby bones but dies out before it can be used to see your surroundings. You’d consider the experiment a half-success.</p>
<p>“Alright, you can open them now.” As soon as they pop open again, they’re on the little heart floating inches away from your torso. “It sort of worked. It’s better than nothing, but it’s not bright enough to use for anything practical.”</p>
<p>“Darn. Think Of All The Money You Could Have Saved On Flashlight Batteries!” his words are sympathetic but he doesn’t sound all that disappointed.</p>
<p>That earns a chuckle as you once again bring your hands around your soul. You can’t summon it, but maybe you could put it back. You give it a little nudge and suddenly your toes are curling. Flashes of your past spin appear and disappear your eyes. Your body thrums as it contacts a part of itself it always feels but never understands and your pretty sure a moan escapes you before you’re jerking the hand away and covering your mouth.</p>
<p>Fang’s eyesockets are wide. Blueberry’s looking at you like you microwaved his hamster in front of him. Your confusion and embarrassment slow but don’t stop you from putting the pieces together.</p>
<p>“Wait, <em>that’s</em> what it feels like when someone touches your soul?!”</p>
<p>It’s pleasurable. Sexual, almost, or at least as sexual as something can be when it’s entirely separated from your body and an abstract, magic, woo woo thing you barely understand. That was what Black felt, when you grabbed his soul? <em>Pleasure</em>? That piece of shit!</p>
<p>“You Shouldn’t Touch Your Own Soul In Front Of Others!” Blue’s voice is pitchy and strained, but otherwise identical to ‘The Talk’ voice used to teach his younger brother about the ways of the world.  The brightness of his blush is enough to rival your soul’s as he whisper-yells, “That’s Private!”</p>
<p>Oh, it’s definitely sexual. And you’d done it to Black. Out of nowhere, without asking. Shame unwillingly wells within you. You’re still pissed at him. More pissed now that you’ve realized he’d let you do something intimate like that while thinking you’re hurting him. But then again, this is The Malevolent Black you’re talking about. Would he ever have admitted to a lowly human giving him pleasure? That might be hard for his ego to admit, even harder than acknowledging that a weakling like you can harm him. The anger musses your thoughts.</p>
<p>Your anger isn’t limited to Black, either. You’re furious with yourself. You crossed a line, unknowingly, but the line was still crossed. And what are you supposed to do about it? Feel bad for violating the boundaries of a monster who’d just finished torturing you? Yell at Black for not telling you that you basically molested his soul?</p>
<p>“y/n.” Fang’s gentle prompting pulls you from your rage. He points a claw a safe distance towards your soul, which has begun to dim and flicker stormily. “look.”</p>
<p>Blue watches it with twisted wonder. “Your Trait Is Patience, Which Means It’s Darkened By,” he hesitates and meets your eyes. “Wrath. Maiden, Are You Angry? You’re Not Mad At Me, Are You?”</p>
<p>“I’m not mad at you,” you reassure him. “I’d rather not talk about it.”</p>
<p>“That’s Okay. You Know We’re Not Angry With You Either, Right?”</p>
<p>“right. not mad.”</p>
<p>“We Know Humans Aren’t The Uh, The Most Informed About Souls. We Get It! You Didn’t Mean To Be Inappropriate. We Can Forget All About It!”</p>
<p>“already forgotten,” Fang affirms.</p>
<p>“Here, Let Me Put That Away For You.”</p>
<p>Blueberry gingerly guides the soul back into your chest. Some warmth returns to you but it’s not enough and you’re eager to get back in the sunlight.</p>
<p>You are glad now, very glad, that you’d gone along with Black’s request to keep your soul-touching a secret. You’re not sure how they would react, but you think you’d rather not find out.</p>
<p>“Thanks, guys. Let’s get out of here.”</p>
<p>It doesn’t take long to make your way back to the forest, and the sunshine is delightfully overwhelming on your eyes and chilled skin as you step from the mine. Your friends make good on their commitment to forget about your ‘touching yourself intimately in front of them’ incident and instead have chosen the diplomatic topic of training techniques.</p>
<p>“High Intensity, High Duration, For All Workouts! And For Recovery, High Protein, High Carb, High Sugar Diet. Anything Less Than The Highest Will Not Do!”</p>
<p>“You want to get as high as possible,” you clarify with mirth.</p>
<p>“Yes!” he pumps a fist, glad you understand, before that fist turns into a wagging finger as he catches on. “No!”</p>
<p>You press onward, undeterred by his exaggerated disapproval, “This just in, Dr. Blueberry advises all aspiring athletes to get high before working out,”</p>
<p>Your hands rest on your hips as you puff out your chest and put forth your best Blue impression, “‘Anything less than the highest will not do!’”</p>
<p>“Nooo!” he complains, “Fang, Wuffie, Don’t Listen To Her. She Is Besmirching The Honored Name Of Doctor Blueberry!”</p>
<p>“you said it,” Fang takes your side humorously. “’s not besmirching.”</p>
<p>“I can’t wait to quote you on that, doc.” You laugh as Blueberry seems to take to the title. You can almost see the gears turning in his skull, imagining himself with a stethoscope and a professional-looking lab coat. Steering the conversation back to its source, you ask Fang the training methods he recommends.</p>
<p>“low intensity’s fine.”</p>
<p>“Your advice, then?”</p>
<p>“find what you like. then keep doin it.”</p>
<p>“And if I don’t like anything?” you tease, in a confrontational mood. The fresh air and good conversation regrettably aren’t enough to douse the lingering irritation stirring up your soul.</p>
<p>“hiking.” he rebuts simply. Oh, right. You can’t effectively diss training as you’re currently participating in it. He turns contemplative as he continues, “and i think you’ll like tai chi.”</p>
<p>When you reach the waterfall, you stop for a break. The calm gives space for your emotions to simmer. Blueberry and Fang play with Wuffie, playing tug of war and keeping her away from the running water. It’s endearing, but bittersweet. Wuffie has been…temperamental lately. While you gave yourself space, she was stuck with you in your self-isolation. She still got walks and your attention, but that’s it. She misses training and learning. She misses Black.</p>
<p>You don’t like denying her what she wants, but for now she’ll have to make do with his cousins’ company. You can’t trust Black around her. He hurt you to get to Mutt, what if he hurt Wuffie to get to you? Of course, you can’t communicate that to her. She doesn’t understand why her friend is gone.</p>
<p>Fang leaves the collie with Blue and pulls you aside.</p>
<p>“let me help.”</p>
<p>“I’m fine,” you assure, wincing as your tone came out sharper than you’d intended.</p>
<p>His brow bones furrow. He doesn’t buy it. “you promised. i can help.”</p>
<p>“I did promise,” you exhale. “Alright. How are you going to help me?”</p>
<p>“teaching.”</p>
<p>“Teaching,” you repeat with some skepticism.</p>
<p>“we can train together.”</p>
<p>“Aren’t we already?” you cringe at your own combative attitude. Fang doesn’t deserve your ire. You try to save it, hold it in and let it build up for the next time you see Black, but it keeps leaking out.</p>
<p>“different. slower, more focused.”</p>
<p>He guides you into a starting stance. Legs at shoulders’ width apart. Feet solidly against the earth. You tenderly roll your head and shoulders to relieve tension.</p>
<p>“follow my breaths,” he begins, inhaling deeply so that the expansion of his ribcage is easily notable from beneath his shirt, “and my movements.”</p>
<p>You mirror his slow and steady motions. It takes concentration, despite their seeming simplicity. You watch Fang carefully, trying to emulate the full-body form of each posture. He matches your attention. When you fall out of sync, he lingers to let you catch up. Once synchronized, it feels something like dancing. Slow dancing, separately, and without music. It becomes more difficult as the gradual movements are taxing on your balance. You overcorrect your equilibrium and wobble, losing the flow.</p>
<p>“be patient with yourself,” he counsels, and restarts the exercise. Being more familiar with the movements, they require marginally less focus. You allot the excess awareness into the soles of your feet and keeping them in close contact with the ground.</p>
<p>Blue and Wuffie sprint into the lesson, hyper from their horseplay.</p>
<p>“What Are You Doing?”</p>
<p>“training,” Fang answers without pause.</p>
<p>“Ooh! Can We Join?”</p>
<p>He nods.</p>
<p>Blueberry follows along for a while, modifying it as needed to keep Wuffie in range with the leash. He seems to pick it up quickly. That is, until he picks it up a little too quickly. He speeds up and exaggerates things, getting frustrated with the lack of excitement.</p>
<p>“Shouldn’t We Be Moving Around More? Or Hitting Things?”</p>
<p>Fang merely shrugs and continues. You follow his lead and stay centered while Blueberry runs off again, letting Wuffie chase him around the treeline.</p>
<p>For a good portion of the afternoon you practice together, Fang occasionally offering guidance and support, your mind wandering and circling back to the present in circuits. Eventually, when your mind is tired of wandering and your muscles are unexpectedly fatigued, you stop.</p>
<p>You relax on the rocks on the bank of the stream, close enough to get a pleasant misting from the waterfall over your warm skin. Fang joins you, placing a claw on your shoulder as he sits beside you. You watch the cascade together. The sound of the hundreds of pounds of water collapsing in on itself is intense but calming.</p>
<p>“how do you feel?”</p>
<p>You turn to him, placing your hand over his and smiling. “Better,” you realize. He hums happily and you give his claw a squeeze. Your core muscles tire of supporting you and you lean into his side. Together you rest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>They say if you put a yummy smelling piece of food in front of a dog while they’re sleeping, they’ll dream about chasing prey.<br/>Well, Author says if you put a yummy smelling horny reader in front of Fang while he’s sleeping, he’ll dream about chasing tail.</p>
<p>this fic but every time I try to write fluff it gets hornier.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Axe has established a routine. He’s working a modest thirty hours a week. The pay isn’t great, but the amount of money he’s saved on the food budget by sneaking the less marketable cuts of meat into his maw is enough to make it more than worth it. The bones, blood, and brains aren’t much for taste, but they do the trick for his hunger cravings. His superiors turn a blind eye to his nonconventional ‘disposal’ of the unsellable pieces of animal carcasses. Off the books, they’re happy with it. Less waste.</p>
<p>He takes Thursdays off to accompany Papyrus to the world market, a specialty shop, or whatever place sells the latest culinary novelty his brother is invested in trying. They’ll collaborate on cooking a labor-intensive dish that evening. Axe doesn’t participate much, but he’ll shortcut to the grocery store if they forgot an ingredient.</p>
<p>Friday nights he saves for himself. Papyrus goes over to the main lodge to have a slumber party with the fake, ‘classic’ Papyrus, and a few of the others. In the absence of responsibility, he finds room to relax a bit. Or, trying to relax, at least. He’s taken to roaming the property, lightly baked, then smoking more weed until he slips into a long, dreamless sleep.</p>
<p>It hadn’t been hard to track down your source. Axe knows everywhere you go, all your secret meeting spots. The terrified dealer had been all too willing to part with his product. Free of charge, of course. Humans are generous when they’re pissing themselves with fear.</p>
<p>The weekends are left open for Pap’s dentist appointments and volunteer work. It has been Axe’s nights that are the most subject to variety and improvisation. An hour after his brother goes to bed at nine o’clock, Axe tries to sleep. He spends until midnight trying. And if he doesn’t succeed, he often finds himself at your apartment.</p>
<p>Tonight is one of those nights.</p>
<p>He stealthily raids your fridge. He helps himself to your expired leftovers and gathers small quantities of fresh foods from your stores. Not enough for you to miss. And if you do miss it, it’s easily dismissed. You could’ve eaten that cupcake and forgotten about it. Maybe you’d miscounted the tomatoes you’d bought. And darn, did you forget to get eggs again?</p>
<p>He smothers a snicker as he thinks about all the food he’d stolen over the weeks. Right under your nose. This whole city is spoiled into rottenness, he’s concluded. They’ve never been deprived of food for long enough to keep proper track of it. It’s a sign of their privilege that it’s as easy to steal it as it is. He’s in a droll mood, so he shares his spoils with your dog, hiding crumbs here and there to watch her scurry after them.</p>
<p>The pattern of behavior has done wonders for his restlessness. It keeps him (relatively) stable. He’s sensitive to anything and everything that threatens to disrupt that pattern. Disruptions such as the <em>tiny tyrant sleeping on your couch</em>.</p>
<p>That had been a shock. He thought he had the guy pinned down, then Black’s showing up and fucking <em>couch surfing</em> in your apartment. It made him realize there’s even more going on here than he’d thought. That hadn’t sat well with him. Not one bit.</p>
<p>Another disruption a few days ago. You’d been gone. Not in your house, not anywhere in the lodge. Nowhere he’s ever seen you. Where’d you go? Is there some part of your life that he doesn’t know about yet, another destination for you to slink off to?</p>
<p>It hadn’t been until you’d returned, and Blueberry had been loudly proclaiming the success of his backpacking retreat with Y/N that he’d put the pieces together. You had slunk off. Nowhere threatening or particularly concerning, but Axe still didn’t like it. Though it made it easier to steal your food, not having you around is unnerving. Besides, if you’re not here, he can’t mess with you.</p>
<p>He grins to himself. On nights like these, when he’s sure you’re in bed, he can’t help but fuck with you a little. Axe watches you sleep from the corner of the room.</p>
<p>Sometimes he gets the sense he’s snoozing vicariously through you.</p>
<p>Sometimes you wake up, just barely, and see his eye in the darkness. Your body is still paralyzed with sleep, but he can see it in your eyes. The fear.<em> It’s delicious</em>.  He savors it for a second, before he shortcuts away. He runs a crimson tongue over his teeth in remembrance.</p>
<p>Sometimes, increasingly often lately, you’re afraid before he even gets here. You’d toss and wrestle with your sheets, face twisted in distress. Nightmares, he recognizes easily.</p>
<p>It’s…disappointing. For two reasons. One, he’s not the one who caused them. He’s fairly certain of that. You shouldn’t be able to remember him scaring you at night, humans tend to forget things that happen in short bursts between sleep. Unless you remember it subconsciously? No, he’d been doing this for a while and you’ve only been getting night terrors for a couple weeks.</p>
<p>Two, he has no idea what really caused them. What happened to you that could put you on edge like this? There are serious events taking place that he has no knowledge about, and what’s worse, those events are messing with his plans. It’s aggravating.  </p>
<p>When he finds you in a nightmare, he tries to pull you out of it. There’s a trick he picked up with his gravity magic. Humans, and many other animals, are relaxed by pressure. The soothing squeeze of a hug on their tissues. It’s why weighted blankets are popular for insomniacs. It doesn’t do anything for him, but it seems to work for you. A subtle, distributed pressure holding you down. It quells the restlessness, the anxiety. A few minutes of extra gravity and you’d settle in.</p>
<p>He learned this technique when hunting humans underground. He’d be holding them down with his magic anyway, keeping them from getting too far, when he noticed just the right amount of pressure dampened the fear. He reveled in their reactions, the chase, the terror, but the meat is sweeter when the prey isn’t tense from adrenaline.</p>
<p>Not only that. Reluctantly, he admits that a part of him wanted to alleviate their distress. Their demise was necessary. Their pain was not. If he could lessen their suffering, ease their path to death, it helped him sleep at night. Theoretically, as he never got much sleep after eating his first human.</p>
<p>Another side of him thinks he’s a fool for wasting his magic on the comfort of his meal. Worse than a fool to use it now, on a human that isn’t even that. But Axe is tired of questioning and moralizing himself. He follows his instinct. If he wants to stop your nightmares, he will. He has enough magic to spare nowadays, anyway.</p>
<p>He sees that tonight you’re caught in the throes of another night terror. A bad one. You’re sweating and clawing at your back. There’s weak gibberish coming out of your mouth that sounds almost like begging.</p>
<p>He’s not conflicted about it. He doesn’t hesitate to step forward to—</p>
<p><em>Crack</em>.</p>
<p>Axe looks at his feet. A branch? Why the hell is there a tree branch in your room? His skull snaps back up fast enough to see your violent flinch from the sound and your eyes shocking open.</p>
<p>Your voice is saturated with horror and dread as you whisper, “Black?”</p>
<p>He’s gone, teleported back to his room before you can say anything else, but he’s heard enough.</p>
<p>It’s Black. That loudmouthed, pompous twit who was all chummy on your couch not so long ago? He was the one who screwed with your head enough to have you crying in your sleep? Though, Axe supposes, Black could have done worse than fuck with your head. Those fells could and would do a lot worse, given the opportunity. And exactly how much worse, he would like to know. Sooner rather than later.</p>
<p>He cantankerously pulls on his shoes and jacket for a trip to the lodge. This won’t be a fun visit. It’s a brief stroll through the trees to the back porch. It’s an excursion he’s made often to scavenge his alternate’s leftovers. It doesn’t take long but he wished it taken longer as the walk in the dark isn’t enough to piece together a plan.</p>
<p>The tiny tyrant won’t be happy to see him. Axe’s head is already ringing from the lecture about disturbing him, especially after the prick’s bedtime. The <em>impropriety</em>. Axe rolls his eyelight.</p>
<p>If the monster protests too much, he’d love to <em>open his mind</em> with a good blow from his axe. His phalanges curl around the sturdy wooden handle. On second consideration, it may not be the best idea to bring it with him. Brandishing the weapon is more likely to escalate a conflict than get him answers. He leans the blade against the wall of the basement, nearby but not obvious, before knocking on Black’s door.</p>
<p>It swings open, revealing the stern skeleton, still in his military uniform, “What Could Possibly Justify Your Disturbance At This Hour?”</p>
<p>Axe peeks his nasal ridge into the room. Bed’s still made. Messy layers of documents cover the desk and freshly crumpled paper rejects fill the trash bin. “need to axe you some questions,” he casually puns as Black shoves him out the door to converse in the game room. “what does it matter the time? you obviously ain’t sleepin.”</p>
<p>“I Don’t Expect A Cretin Like You To Understand Basic Monster Decency,” Black begins, his clothing immaculate but his eyesockets shadowed, “Let Alone Proper Respect For Your Superiors. Just Ask What You Must Quickly And Leave.”</p>
<p>“won’t take long,” Axe asserts as his shoulders stiffen up from the insult to his character. “so long as you cooperate.”</p>
<p>“Spit It Out, Already!”</p>
<p>“tell me. what the hell did you do to y/n?”</p>
<p>Black is caught of guard, taking half a step back and raising his chin. A second passes and anger overtakes his uncertainty, his phalanges balled into fists.</p>
<p>“That Is Of No Relevance To You,” he shows Axe his back as he turns back to his bedroom.</p>
<p>“i say it is,” Axe returns, hand inching towards his weapon. “now <em>tell me</em>.” He emphases the command by burying the axe into the wood of the door. The heavy <em>thunk</em> sends splinters scattering past Black’s skull. He eyes the damage sourly.</p>
<p>“YOU BRUTE,” he sneers, whipping around to face the monster responsible. “What Does It Matter To You What I Did To Y/N? Last I Remember, You Hate Humans. Or Was It <em>Ate</em> Humans?” Black pretends to ponder, scornful smirk stretching his skull.</p>
<p>Axe yanks the blade from the wood with a grunt, wielding it defensively. “last i remember, you hate humans too. what are you up to, getting chummy with one?”</p>
<p>There’s a light pop as the Black’s loyal guard dog shortcuts to his side, swift to hold the sharp end of the axe and point it away from him. “m’lord can do what he wants,” Mutt defends, voice low and tired.</p>
<p>“Yes, I Can,” Black boasts, visibly emboldened by his brother’s presence. “And I Demand To Know What Moved You To Ask Such Unseemly Questions. Are You In Contact With Y/N?”</p>
<p>“yeah. i am. she didn’t tell ya?” he strategically makes it sound secretive. Like you didn’t want them to know, rather than not knowing about much of his ‘contact’ yourself.</p>
<p>Black scoffs, but is visibly disturbed, stammering, “Well—That’s—I Don’t Need To Know Some Silly Human’s Schedule! Besides, It Hardly Matters. Because I Forbid You From Contacting Her.”</p>
<p>It’s Axe’s turn to scoff, “that so?”</p>
<p>His dismissiveness only amplifies Black’s resolve and he swears, “Yes. You Are Not To See Her Again.”</p>
<p>Axe can’t help the hilarity in his tone as he inquires, “and how’d’ya plan to enforce that, exactly? there’s rules here ya know. vanilla won’t stand by and let you threaten me. ‘nd, how should i put this…” he rips the axe out of Mutt’s hold to stand it on the floor, leaning his weight on it. “i don’t think she’d take kindly to you ordering her to stay away. why would she listen to you?”</p>
<p>Consternation scrunches Black’s skull and he grinds his teeth while preparing a rebuttal. Axe sees Mutt watch his brother with subtle signs of suspicion. Axe understands that the two have been fighting recently. Maybe he could use that to his advantage, pit them against each other.</p>
<p>“mutt, maybe you can shed light on this for me.” he opens up his posture to appear nonthreatening, placating, “my pal y/n’s been a little off lately. been skittish. having night terrors. happens to mention black’s name in one of ‘em, and it didn’t sound friendly. what am i supposed to think, huh?”</p>
<p>His attempt backfires as Mutt growls through his teeth, “how’d you know what she’s sayin’ in ‘er sleep, sicko?” The tall skeleton swipes the hatchet’s handle out from beneath him, throwing Axe off balance and sending the weapon skittering across the floor. Mutt uses this chance to loom over him, skull grim. “best listen to m’lord. if you know what’s good for you, stay away from y/n.”</p>
<p>Axe returns to his aggressive posture, widening his stance. “not even denying it. sick fuckers,” he curses, backing up to get nearer to his weapon.</p>
<p>Black is in a stupor, staring at the floor. It’s Mutt who responds to his riling. Unfortunately, he doesn’t respond with answers, only a glare and a bored, yet hostile, “leave.”  </p>
<p>It’s clear Axe’s not getting anything more than a fight if he sticks around. He snorts, snatching his weapon from off the ground and dragging it behind him as he walks up the stairs, leaving a trail of scratches to the floorboards. It’s undeniable Black did something. Mutt’s in on it too, complacent, if not a participant. But he still doesn’t know <em>what</em> they did to you, he acknowledges with frustration.</p>
<p>By the time he’s back home, laying flat on his bed, a simple solution occurs to him. He’ll ask you. Not directly, that would be suspicious, but he’ll get you talking on the subject and with any luck you’ll tell him what he’d like to know.</p>
<p>He reaches over to his bedstand where he keeps his phone when he’s not at work. Your message thread lights up on the screen. The last few times he’d texted you, answering your inquiries about your massaging results and planning another ‘hang out session’ (your words, obviously), he’d replied at all hours of the day. You didn’t seem to mind his inconsistency. He doesn’t feel the need to wait until morning to send: wanna hang out this week?</p>
<p>You reply sooner than he’d expected. You’re still up, unable to sleep after that scare, most like.</p>
<p>y/n: Sure</p>
<p>y/n: You’re a butcher, right? I’ll buy a couple steaks off you and we can cook them up together.</p>
<p>Dinner? That sounds alright to him. He says as much.</p>
<p>y/n: Is my place okay?</p>
<p>Your place. He hasn’t officially been there yet, but now’s a good a time as any to fix that. You plan for a Wednesday evening.</p>
<p>The day of he brings four T-bone steaks to your apartment, with a cheap bottle of wine as an afterthought. It may be easier to get you to talk if you’re buttered up with alcohol.</p>
<p>You greet him, accepting the wine and inviting him in. “I forgot to buy ingredients for a salad, so we’ll be eating like proper carnivores tonight.”</p>
<p>“no skin off my nose,” he jokes, stepping into your living room and making a show of checking it out.</p>
<p>“I’d give you a tour, but truthfully there’s not much to see,” you make conversation as you begin seasoning the steaks. It’s hard for Axe to keep his eyes off the meat, and he’s not alone in that. Your collie sits near your feet and joins him in staring longingly at the dish as you prepare it. Through the drool coating it, Axe recognizes the stick he’d stepped on earlier in her maw.</p>
<p>“what’s that about?” he asks, gesturing to the disgusting twig.</p>
<p>“Oh,” you see what he’s pointing to and chuckle good-naturedly, “That’s Wuffie’s new favorite toy. She found that branch on our backpacking trip and she’d gotten very attached to it. Hardly lets it out of her sight, even when she sleeps. Sorry it’s gross. I couldn’t bring myself to take it away from her.”</p>
<p>You split your attention between greasing the pan and watching saliva puddle under your dog’s mouth with a cringe. “Are you a dog person, Axe?”</p>
<p>“eh. they’re cute,” he shrugs, surveying the fluffy ears and overactive tail attached to the domesticated predator. “but doesn’t it bother ya that even with that innocent mug of hers she wouldn’t hesitate to eat your face off if you died?”</p>
<p>You appraise Wuffie with a half-frown. “It’s not a possibility I enjoy thinking about, true. But I don’t hold it against her. If I died, she loses her source of food. I’m not so petty that I care more about what my corpse looks like than whether or not my dog starves. I know it’s not personal.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t that right, Wuffles?” you coo, leaning down to her level, letting her lick seasoning off your fingers, “You can eat me when I die, can’t you? But not before that, little gremlin!” You no longer look bothered by the idea, easy going as you pull away to wash your hands and add the T-bones to the hot pan.</p>
<p>The opinion takes him by surprise. Even though it’s unrelated to his goal for the evening, he presses the topic. “i thought humans cared more about what happens to their bodies after they die. there’s a whole industry for it. preserving bodies, prettyin’ ‘em up for burial.”</p>
<p>“Oh, yeah,” you acknowledge, “I don’t mean to say what happens to my body doesn’t matter at all. I’d like a good funeral and stuff. And I’m sure my family wouldn’t like seeing me all half-eaten…”</p>
<p>You pause to flip a steak with a satisfying sizzle. “But beyond helping loved ones get closure, there’s not too much point in worrying about the state of my corpse. How do monsters feel on the subject?”</p>
<p>“we just dust,” Axe starts, oddly uncomfortable. The subject is familiar but talking about it like this is not. “there’s not much you can do with it. some get sentimental, like to keep loved one’s dust close. others want their dust in one place or another.”</p>
<p>“Kind of like cremated humans, then,” you ponder, inserting a thermometer into the steak’s meaty center, “Is that what you want? To be put in an urn on your family’s fireplace or something?”</p>
<p>“won’t be enough to fill an urn.”</p>
<p>“Really?” you look away from the stove to give him a curious once-over. “But you’re so big!”</p>
<p>Axe furrows his brow bones at you, unexpectedly miffed about you picturing what he’ll look like dead. Hypocritical, as he did the same to you not thirty seconds ago.</p>
<p>“Ah, I don’t mean it in a bad way. Not calling you big boned,” you giggle tensely to yourself, “You’re just tall and I could probably fit inside your ribcage.”</p>
<p>He joins you in snickering at the ridiculous image. “i might be big, but i’m mostly magic. all my dust could fit in a tablespoon.”</p>
<p>“Huh.” While you’re dwelling on that, he realizes he didn’t answer your question.</p>
<p>“i’d like my dust to be put to use, somehow. don’t want to go to waste.”</p>
<p>You nod as you pile the cooked steaks onto a platter. “I’ve heard of people growing plants in their ashes. Or baking them into a dish that’s fed to their loved ones. Either way, it’s poetic. A part of you absorbed and living on another living thing.”</p>
<p>“humans eat each other’s dust?” he asks incredulously.</p>
<p>“It’s rare, but it happens,” you answer ambiguously, setting the table. “Speaking of rare, the steaks are done! Let’s eat!”</p>
<p>He dives into the food, welcoming the dinner as a distraction from the discussion drifting dangerously close to cannibalism. You sigh and hum as you cherish a bite, washing it down with the wine he’d brought.</p>
<p>He’s going for seconds as you’re prying the last bits of steak off the bone. A thoughtful look crosses your features. When he sits back across from you, you speak up, “It doesn’t weird you out to eat something with bone in it? Being made of bones and all?”</p>
<p>“heh. doesn’t seem to weird you out, eating flesh. being made of meat, and all.” Fuck, he’s got to stop talking about this. He’s already imagined eating you too many times tonight. It’s <em>distracting</em>.</p>
<p>“True,” you poke the T-bone around with your fork inquisitively. “But I think it’s different. Meat looks way different than skin, especially when it’s cooked. Bone just looks like bone.”</p>
<p>“hmm,” he examines the bone on his own plate before popping it in his mouth. “you could be on to something. i bet it’d bug a more squeamish skeleton. i’m a butcher. i break bone all the time. someone like black, though, it could scare.”</p>
<p>He feels the rush of victory as you perk up, intrigued by this information. You’ve accepted the subject change, now he just needs to get you talking about him. “Really? You think it could frighten him?”</p>
<p>“yup. he’d deserve it, too. bastard needs his ego taken down a few pegs.”</p>
<p>You laugh in astonishment, “I wouldn’t’ve have expected you to say that. You’re cousins. Do you not get along?”</p>
<p>“a notorious prick like that can’t get along with anyone, even family.”</p>
<p>“I guess that means you wouldn’t be offended if I ranted about him, a bit?”</p>
<p>Jackpot. “course not. rant away.”</p>
<p>“He’s so frustrating. The most stubborn person I’ve ever met. And the way he treats Mutt…” you become somber and distant as you think on your friend.</p>
<p>Axe picks up the slack in the conversation, “despicable. acts like he’s the center of the universe. do you know he tried to forbid me from seeing you?”</p>
<p>He expects you to join in his mockery of Black’s hubris but instead you seem disconcerted. “Black tried to keep you away from me?” the defeat in your tone deflates his amusement, “I hate to say it, but…he has a good reason for it.”</p>
<p>“what kinda reason?’ he interrogates impatiently, knowing he won’t like the answer but needing to know. Did one of them let slip his human-eating past? His LV?</p>
<p>“I’ll tell you only if you can keep it a secret.”</p>
<p>“my lips are sealed,” he jokes, pantomiming zipping his teeth closed and locking them. Why would you care about keeping it a secret, though? Especially if it’s about him?</p>
<p>“I’m serious,” you grumble, “You have to promise not to tell anyone.”</p>
<p>“i promise,” he agrees after a moment’s deliberation, eager to get in on this secret of yours.</p>
<p>You exhale from your mouth, curling in on yourself, leaning into your elbow propped up on the table. “I may have…accidentally…touched Black’s soul without asking.”</p>
<p>…What?</p>
<p>“accidentally touchin someone’s soul? bout as likely as me ‘accidentally’ finger-banging you into the table.”</p>
<p>You bury your face in your arms. There’s a muffled groan of, “I didn’t know.”</p>
<p>He considers this as you take a moment to recover from mortification. If you touched Black’s soul…perhaps he lashed at you in retaliation? Or maybe you’d seen something in his soul, something so terrifying it’s scarred you with nightmares? It’d make sense as to why Black was reluctant to talk about it. Being engaged in such an intimate act with a human must’ve been humiliating for him.</p>
<p>“Do you think I’m a horrible person?” you ask, head lifting partway up from your hands.</p>
<p>“need more context to decide that.”</p>
<p>“It’s a long story,” you sigh. Axe waits, nodding for you to continue. “Basically, Black hurt me. Badly. Then he healed me. We argued and he agreed to let me hurt him back,” you pause and your face screws up, seeming to realize how far-fetched it sounds. “Well, I had a hard time hurting him, he’s too strong. And so…I went for his soul. I thought it was, sort of, you know, a power move! Not…what it was.”</p>
<p>It doesn’t make any sense. If what you’re saying is true, how are you still alive? Black has killed for less. Unless…. you’d said he let you try to hurt him. He must’ve <em>let you</em> touch him. It’s hard to swallow. Entirely uncharacteristic for the prickly monster. Then again, he’d also slept on your couch. Tried to keep the human-eater away from you, almost…protectively. Black has a pattern of breaking his stoic character around you, it seems. Axe’s disbelief circles back to amusement as he gathers the gravity of this information.</p>
<p>Now that he knows what he needs to, he can simply enjoy himself. “it’s certainly…a kind of power move. you really put the moves on him, peaches.”</p>
<p>“Ugh,” you shake your head, “I swear I didn’t mean it like that!”</p>
<p>“i don’t think yer a horrible person. doubt black does either. in fact, i bet you’ll be seein’ a lot more of him.”</p>
<p>You sink back into your chair, “I don’t think I could handle that. There was a moment where I thought I could handle him, but it turns out ‘handling him’ was just molesting his soul.”</p>
<p>Axe laughs. This is too rich. “heh, i can help you handle him. whadda ya say i bring you some bones from the butcher’s and you make black a <em>special</em> dinner. cook up the marrow. split the bone and eat it real slow in front of him. there’s yer power move.”</p>
<p>There’s a glimmer in your eye as you drum your fingers against the table, considering it. “It would be nice for him to be the scared one, for once.”</p>
<p><em>she gets it</em>, Axe realizes. <em>she knows what it’s like to savor other’s fear. to drink it in.</em></p>
<p>“exactly.”</p>
<p>“But you don’t think it’s wrong of me, to try and punish him like that?”</p>
<p>“nah. he deserves it, doesn’t he?”</p>
<p>“That he does,” you mutter grimly. Axe cheerfully takes a bite of his steak as he dangles the possibility of revenge in front of you. “That he does.”</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Featuring Axe, as a calming and corrupting influence</p>
<p>Fluff break is over y'all. Next chapter get ready for some angsttt</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Black had underestimated you. You are much crueler than he’d anticipated. Holding the culmination of his being in your hands, challenging him to prove himself worthy, your powerful intent lingering…</p><p>
  <em>“You can’t dismiss me.”</em>
</p><p>He scowls against the frustratingly circular nature of his thoughts. He <em>can’t</em> dismiss you. He also can’t see you, as you’re avoiding him like the plague. If your goal is to vex him, you’ve most certainly succeeded.</p><p>It’s infuriating, if not expected, that all his personal therapist had to offer him in this dire situation is a suggestion that he apologize to you. To be honest about what he needs from you. Human naivety is wearying in its prevalence.</p><p>For the novelty, he imagines it. Coming to you in apology. Weaving his tale of woe. Showing his soul again to bring you back on his side, if you were ever there in the first place. Even if such a nonsensical display would get optimal results, it’s impossible.</p><p>He isn’t sorry.</p><p>If he hadn’t done what he did, he may not have discovered the urgency of Mutt’s self-destruction, not until it was too late. He is regretful that your sacrifice was required for that end, but his responsibility is to his family.</p><p>The revelation of Mutt’s spiraling LV has raised the stakes. Black needs to thwart his brother’s dangerous habits before they twist him beyond recognition. It was rare that a monster with extremely high LoVe would last long underground. There isn’t a single stat that when passed spells the monster’s doom, but with each LV gained the risk becomes greater. The risk of losing yourself to <em>that feeling</em>. The power, the thrill, the numbness.</p><p>Passed the point of no return, monsters are consumed by their desire to harm. They abandon self-preservation. They attack without restraint. They slaughter their way through weaklings. They eventually meet resistance. For many such monsters, their final battle was with Black. He did not enjoy fighting them. There was nothing to be gained, only the grim obligation of putting down a rabid dog.</p><p>Mutt should know the fate that awaits him at the end of the path he’s on. He is a strong monster, having his own share of feral LV-filled monsters targeting him underground, wanting to dust or be dusted by the notorious Watchdog.</p><p>He’s seen the consequences. He just doesn’t care.</p><p>Black swipes an arm across his desk, sending dozens of papers fluttering to the floor in frustration. He needs a strategy. A plan of attack. He can’t leave anything to chance. He pulls a fresh paper and pen from the pile and begins again. He charts the strings of possibilities, the tangles of directions that could spring from each action he takes.</p><p>It’s just as fruitless as his other attempts. You and Mutt aren’t pieces on a chessboard. A pawn is predictable and pliable. You aren’t either of those things. And unlike pawns, the fate of each piece is intrinsically tied to his victory. Until he knows how to navigate this minefield, he’ll need to hedge his bets and keep his options open. He’ll play along with the therapy, make compromises with Mutt, and bide his time.</p><p>Black knows he’s playing a dangerous game. You’re human. Mutt kills humans. Not indiscriminately, not while he remains sane, but the risk is there. If you get too close to him …he could kill you. If you get too distant, Black loses a potent deterrent to Mutt’s future LV gain. But, perhaps worse of all, if he lets you come between himself and his brother…</p><p>Deeply rooted trepidation springs from that well of thought. Unfortunately, diving to the bottom of it is necessary because you are <em>already</em> coming between them. A corrosive fluid sinking into the cracks in their relationship and accentuating them.</p><p>He’s on thin ice with Mutt and that thin ice is melting. His brother’s rebellion hadn’t been quaffed when they’d narrowly avoided fighting that night. It’d been put on a backburner, simmered, and is now alight with a contained fire that is fouling the house and staining the white ceiling with its noxious smoke.</p><p>And then there’s Axe. The brutish monster had the gall to demand answers, waving around that tarnished old hatchet. He’d retreated, then turned around and directly disobeyed Black’s orders, smug and taunting all the while. Like he knows something Black doesn’t. His unruly presence is the last thing Black needs right now. A rusty wrench thrown into his already volatile plans.</p><p>Black is once again filled with the desire to upturn his desk. Instead, he abruptly stands and climbs the stairs to the kitchen. It’s early evening and his alternates have not yet infested the area with their cookery. He retrieves the kettle and fills it with tap water, placing it on the stove to boil.</p><p>He reflects as he waits, watching the peaceful backwoods from the window. Perhaps it’d be more effective if he thought of his ideal outcomes and worked backwards. His primary concern is Papyrus’s safety. Preferably, he would also be stable and occupied with productive endeavors. Sober. Obedient without the passive aggressive snark he’s been shoveling lately. They’d have their own estate. It’d be a comfortable distance from their alternates’ prying. A large back yard for the beast to train in. Mutt would quit dallying with this ‘friendship’ business and commit for once. If the one he commits to is you…Black will allow it. Mutt could’ve done much worse. And when he imagines you as an addition to his family…he doesn’t hate it. He knows that the Mutt and the beast would want you there.</p><p>The alarming whistle of the boiling kettle interrupts his daydreams. He pours the steaming water into his mug and packs loose tea leaves into a metal mesh infuser. The pigment from the plant material diffuses prettily like droplets of paint.</p><p>He takes a calming sip of the uncooled beverage.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>When he hears your voice, he doesn’t trust his senses, at first. What are you doing here? Mutt didn’t tell him you’d be coming over anytime soon. He panickily pulls his mug of tea to his ribs and presses himself against the wall, splashing himself in the process.</p><p>“It’s good to see you,” you greet, voice carrying from the front room.</p><p>It must be Mutt you’re visiting after all, as it’s his brother’s bitter reply, “done needin’ space?”</p><p>“I didn’t mean to shut you out. It’s—” you cut yourself off self-consciously. “Can we talk about this somewhere else?”</p><p>Mutt gruffly grunts agreement and Black hears your footsteps getting closer and closer until they descend into the basement. He dwells on his own folly for a moment as he scratches at the fresh stain on his jacket. It isn’t cowardice, that he avoided you. It’s only logical to sidestep you until his strategy solidifies. Otherwise, he may sabotage himself by blindly moving in the wrong direction. He quietly moves towards the stairwell to listen for the signal that it’s safe for him to return to his desk.</p><p>He gleans only the occasional snippet of your conversation.</p><p>“Dangerous?” he hears you ask, voice pitching in incredulity. His brother’s reply is unheard, low frequency lost through the layers of drywall.</p><p>“You don’t get to chose who my friends are, Mutt.”</p><p>There’s some back and forth on the threshold of his hearing. Loud enough to know words are being said but not what those words are. The next time your voice raises sufficiently for him to hear, it’s with great hope and affection, “You’ll see Dr. Odinkirk? That’s amazing news! I promise you won’t regret it.”</p><p>There’s a period of barely perceptible whispers followed by silence. He can only assume Mutt must’ve shortcutted off with you. Black descends the stairs with tentative stealth.</p><p>His impatience is punished with the sight of Mutt crowding you against the back of couch, his hands on your waist while you cup his cheekbone in your palm. You incline your head towards his and press your lips to his teeth. Mutt leans into your hand and tilts his skull to better accommodate the kiss. A lascivious hum drifts from you as you open your mouth to allow his tongue to slip inside.</p><p>Black collects himself enough to clear his throat, announcing himself and causing you to break apart in surprise. “I need to speak with you. Privately,” you inform him, face hardened, arms folded in front of you.</p><p>He can’t help but scoff, unreasonably angry at the way all softness and warmth melted away from you as soon as you laid eyes on him. “I Wish You’d Had The Same Respect For Privacy A Minute Ago, Instead Of Obscenely Canoodling With My Brother In The Open! His Room Is A Mere Five Yards Away!”</p><p>“yeah, c’mon darlin’,” Mutt glowers at him for interrupting, “room’s only five yards away. let’s go.”</p><p>“No, this is important.” You stand your ground and pull away from Mutt, who grumbles in complaint.</p><p>“Very Well,” he leads you to his door before remembering the sensitive documents scattering his room. “Give Me A Moment!” He shuts himself behind the door and rushes to tuck away anything he wouldn’t want you to see. “You May Enter.”</p><p>He hardly has enough time to wonder what you might want to talk to him about before you demand, “When were you going to tell me that soul touching is sexual?!”</p><p>Damn it. He’d wanted everything that happened in his room that night to be forgotten, not spoken of to anyone. <em>Including</em> him. He corrects you joylessly, “It Is Much More Than Sexual.”</p><p>“That’s Not Better, Black!”</p><p>“When Was I Supposed To Tell You?” He snaps defensively, “While You Were Whipping Me? While You Were <em>Ignoring</em> Me?”</p><p>You grit your teeth and look down. “I didn’t mean—” you gather yourself, sapping the aggression from your tone. “I came to apologize. I never wanted to hurt you that way. Or to cross your sexual boundaries. So…I’m sorry.”</p><p>“You Only Meant To Hurt Me Non-Sexually?” he clarifies with a dismal humor. He hates seeing you pity him, dismissively instructing, “Calm Down. It’s Nothing I Haven’t Dealt With Previously.”</p><p>To his dismay, this only heightens your consolatory distress. You’re openly appalled. “You’ve…been assaulted before?” you ask quietly, guilt dripping from every word.</p><p>It’s a part of the underground he doesn’t miss. With his status and power, many ambitious monsters sought his match. Their methods were often distasteful, to say the least. Breaking into his estate. Sneaking around to catch him alone and then trying to ‘seduce’ him with vulgar words and grabby claws. They’d mash their face against his or try to touch his pelvic bone. They were chased off his property self-assured they’d impressed him with their craftiness. Anything but. He was left with nothing but a feeling of filthiness and a great loathing for every one of them.</p><p>“Yes,” he answers simply. He had experienced unwanted sexual contact. But how could he communicate to you, that what you did was different. That he didn’t want to scrub his soul clean after you’d touched him. That your touch had left feelings that no one else’s touch had. He isn’t sure how to tell you this, or even if he wants to, but he must say <em>something</em> as you crumple in on yourself, heels of your hands covering your eyes with shame. “How Many Times Must I Tell You To End This Moralizing Nonsense? Stop Eating Yourself Up Over It!”</p><p>When that fails to reach you, he sighs, “It Was Rash Of Me To Compare It To Those Other Times. What You Did Was Different.”</p><p>You scarcely lift your face from your hands and he sees the glistening of moisture in your reddened eyes. “Different how?”</p><p> He curses the ignorance of humans as he gears up to have this conversation. “When A Human Is Touched, All You Feel Is The Physical Sensation. When A Monster Is Touched, We Feel Your Intent. Our Souls Are Especially Sensitive To It. Not All Contact Is The Same.”</p><p>“You’re saying that I didn’t assault you, because my intent wasn’t sexual,” you surmise, tone lightened by budding hope.</p><p>Black struggles within himself. He’d like to let you believe that there was no lewdness to either of your actions that night, but it would be a lie that you’d certainly sniff out eventually. “No. Your Lack Of Lustfulness Did Not Make The Act Of Touching My Soul Less Intimate. It Is Difficult To Explain.”</p><p>“What did it feel like? My intent?”</p><p>He recalls the burning will wrapping around his soul, spurning what it deemed the mere pageantry of power. “Your Intent Was…Powerful. It Proved That We Are More Alike Than I’d Thought. It Was Also Demanding. It Wanted Me To Prove Myself In Turn. Of Course, I Couldn’t As You Weren’t <em>Listening</em> To My Soul The First Time You Touched It.” </p><p>Black quickly realizes that in his indecisiveness he overindulged your incessant inquiries. That was more than you’d needed to know. Your eyes clear and your brows relax as you take this in. “The first time…That’s right, how could I have forgotten? The second time…you let me touch your soul.” you repeat with astonishment, “You let me…”</p><p>“I Answered Your Questions, Now I Insist That We Return To Never Speaking Of This.”</p><p>“You let me touch your soul,” you ignore him, pressing on in disbelief. “Black, what does that <em>mean</em>?”</p><p>“IT MEANS NOTHING!” he snaps. “It Meant Absolutely Nothing And I Command You To Cease Speaking About It!”</p><p>You snort, your stubbornness warring his as you stare each other down. He can tell you aren’t convinced. You’ll continue to pester him about it once you’ve collected yourself, he’s sure. In the meantime, you acquiesce and wave a hand in exasperation.</p><p>“Fine, I won’t talk about it. But there’s something else we need to discuss.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I didn’t punish you properly last time. I was ignorant and I want to correct my error by trying again.”</p><p>He scoffs. “And How Do You Plan To Do That?”</p><p>“I’m inviting you to dinner. In your kitchen, in about,” you check your phone for the time, “twenty minutes?”</p><p>“Dinner. You’re Punishing Me With…Dinner. Your Culinary Abilities Are Not On Par With My Own But I Hardly Think That They Are Dour Enough That It Qualifies As A Punishment To Consume Your Cooking.”</p><p>Your laugh is short and impish. “Then you’ll come?”</p><p>Whatever mischief humans get up with their food has no bearing on Black. Switching sugar with salt and such like is a trivial matter, he can eat without summoning his tongue. Any poison that you would have access to would not harm him. He’s sure that the dinner is a safe decision as it will allow you to vent your ire towards him with minimal inconveniences on his part. “Yes. I Will Attend Your Dinner.”</p><p>“Good. I’ll meet you upstairs at five.” Without any further pleasantries you leave his room, shutting the door behind you.</p><p>Fifteen minutes pass while Black scurries to piece together a plan to make this dinner productive. If he had a solid agenda, he would use this opportunity to push that agenda. Unfortunately, his plans are still nebulous. Reconnaissance will have to do. He heads up to the kitchen early. Despite his premature entrance, he expects to see some progress made towards dinner. Not you and his brother goofing off, flirting obnoxiously with Mutt seated on the formerly clean counters.</p><p>“Does This Flippant Dallying Mean That Dinner Will Be Late?”</p><p>“We’ve got to wait for Axe to bring the ingredients. And don’t worry about the wait, either.” there’s a malicious twist to your smile, “The preparation is part of the fun.”</p><p>When Axe gets home, Mutt leaps off the counters and cuts in front of you to accept the grocery bags. You come between them to peek at their contents while the two skeletons having a distinctly nonfriendly staring contest.</p><p>“Thanks, Axe. Is this much okay?” you ask, pulling out a few bills from your wallet.</p><p>“sure, sure.” he shoves the money into his hoodie pocket without looking at it. “save me some?”</p><p>“Of course,” you reply and Axe leaves through the back door, not without giving Black an insufferably taunting smirk on his way out.</p><p>“Good Riddance.” He crosses his arms and sneers in the direction the butcher left. “What Atrocities Has The Cretin Left For Us?”</p><p>You place the bags on the kitchen island and begin unloading their contents. “Let’s see here…a few cow femurs…Ah, this one’s from a deer…. Some miscellaneous marrow bones…”</p><p>Black observes you casually handling the bloodied bones with a sinking feeling. He’d underestimated you. <em>Again</em>.</p><p>He curses the ill-fated coincidence that his magic is the same color as mammal blood. If the gore on the bones were green, or any other color he could dismiss it as cartoonish. But the red… They’re filthy with it. Coated with it in layers. The dark, rusty red staining those bones is viscerally violent. The beatings that he would take to get to that state would be brutal.</p><p>He’s had his share of injuries, but nothing of that severity. It takes a moment of recollection to recall what the sight reminds him of most. Not his own body, battered and broken, but the bones of his brother coming home covered in the carnage of some doomed human. It’d happened often enough. He can remember yelling at Mutt to get cleaned up before it dripped and sullied his pristine floors.</p><p>Since then, it seems his brother has increased his efforts to tidy up after his escapades. He hasn’t seen the dirty evidence of Mutt’s murders since surfacing. That could change. Feral monsters have no care for cleaning up their messes. If his plans fail, Black will become intimately reacquainted with the sight of those bloodied bones.</p><p>The thought makes him sick.</p><p>He checks Mutt’s reaction to the reveal of their dinner’s ingredients. Disconcerted and curious, as he peers over your shoulder. “if you wanted to eat a bone, just had to ask,” he not so subtly mutters into your ear. You blush and shoo him off. Overall, Mutt seems unperturbed. His ‘experience’ with humans has desensitized him.</p><p>You bring down the cleaver, bisecting the bone and exposing the trove of marrow in its center. Black flinches at the sound. The corner of your mouth twitches upwards when you notice his recoil. What is your objective? Is this a threat, or merely an attempt to unnerve him? He tries to puzzle it out as you continue to prepare, seasoning the marrow. You throw half of the bones in the oven and the other half in a large soup pot to boil.</p><p>Mutt is stuck to your side, ‘helping’ you cook while you navigate their kitchen. He’s being overly grabby. You must be in a good mood as you allow and encourage his advances, reciprocating his touches with a casual hand on his collar and pecks to his cheekbone. The level of public displaying affection is downright indecent. </p><p>“I’m Not Sure What Is More Revolting. This ‘Meal’, Or Watching You And Mutt Drooling Over Each Other,” Black gripes from his barstool across the counter. Both of you are supremely unapologetic and he rolls his eyelights.</p><p>A visitor peeps in to investigate the unavailability of the kitchen. “Y/N?” Blue rushes to greet you. “I Didn’t Expect To See You Today! What Are You Making?”</p><p>You try and fail to stop the small skeleton from peeking into the pot of boiling bones. His bright blue eyelights wobble with worry. “You Said That Bone Eating Stuff Was Make Believe!”</p><p>“The creature was fake,” you explain sheepishly, “…the practice of eating bones though, that’s real…”</p><p>He whines and covers his teeth with a gloved hand as if he’s about to be sick.</p><p>“Sorry, Blue!” you call after him as he runs up the stairs. Seeing Blueberry’s reaction makes him feel better about his own. The runt is such a babybones. You appear distraught by Blue’s abrupt exit, but Mutt is quick to distract you, making lewd puns with kitchenware and asking if you want to <em>fork</em> him.</p><p>It’s five minutes until the meal is cooked, yet to Black it felt like much longer. He’s eager when you take it out of the oven as that means he can get this travesty over with faster.</p><p>“Look At Us. Having A Family Dinner.” he sneers. “We’re Playing Right Into Dr. Freeman’s Schemes!”</p><p>“Dr. Freeman, the family systems therapist? I thought he was for the both of you. Why would you go without Mutt?”</p><p>“I’ve Been Seeing Dr. Freeman AND Dr. Davison. A Failsafe If They Ever Contradict Each Other, Or Attempt To Mold Me To Their Individual Agendas.”</p><p>“good thinkin’, m’lord.” Mutt impassively pipes up after slurping up a bowl of bone broth. “i’ll be joinin’ you next time.”</p><p>“You Will?” he confirms in surprise, you calmly nodding at Mutt in approval.</p><p>That’s right…he’d overheard you mentioning a Dr. Odinkirk with Mutt earlier. That must be the personal therapist you’d found for him. It’s good that he’d accept that, but better that he intends to join the family sessions as well.</p><p>The least he can say for the therapy so far is that it’s better than stewing alone over his thoughts.</p><p>That doesn’t mean he <em>trusts</em> the things his therapists tell him. Everything they say is a starting point. A thought. A novel suggestion. Definitely not a law or a universal truth. The humans of this universe are utterly incapable of intellectually landing on anything he’d swallow with much certainty. </p><p>However, Black has noted that with modestly regular consistency his appointments inspire an interesting line of thinking. For instance, the concept of boundaries. It was explained as a structure of deals in every relationship. Some explicit, most inexplicit, and rather annoying to sniff out. Potentially effective if used correctly.</p><p>Mutt may find something useful of his own in his therapy attendance. Motivation, maybe. It’s overly optimistic but Black finds his nonexistent stomach settling at this information.</p><p>Tentatively he lifts a spoonful of darkened marrow to his mouth. He meets your eyes as he places it over his summoned tongue. It’s buttery and flavorful. He can’t help a haughty smile as he licks the spoon clean. “It’s Delicious,” he declares, relishing your disappointment. Your punishments have a way of rewarding him in the end.</p><p>When you leave, he reviews the evening. His magic is replenished with a tasty meal you’d cooked for him. Mutt is in an amiable mood. He had no strategy and still managed a moderate success. As a first in a long time, he feels his burden lightening. Perhaps...perhaps things will work out.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not pictured, Black despondently staring at the picture of Wuffie you sent him on his phone, missing the little fuzzball<br/>Button A—let Reader suffer with the guilt of assaulting you along with the nightmares you gave her<br/>Button B—Tell Reader it wasn’t assault cause you were hella into it<br/>Black, eyeing the buttons, visibly sweating (ó﹏ò｡)<br/>I regret not telling Mutt and Reader’s first kiss from one of their perspectives, but I don’t like flipping POVs in the middle of a scene. I’ll make up for it next chapter 😉</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You hadn’t planned on kissing Mutt. It’d been spur of the moment, instinctual, driven by his sweet murmurs of <em>trying</em> for you. It filled your heart with such warmth that you’d needed him close. The kiss was lovely. The nervous flutters in your stomach at the anticipation of seeing him again are from uncertainty, not regret.</p>
<p>The uncertainty is no small thing, however. You’d dived in, face-first, without a second thought and after a strained period of your friendship. You hadn’t even talked about it. Are you and Mutt on the same page? Does he know that the kiss isn’t binding? You care about Mutt, but you’re not looking to get into a steady relationship with him. He’s just started therapy, for heaven’s sake. Therapy that he <em>really</em> needs. He’s not anywhere close to having his shit together. He’s a lovable mess. You’re a mess too, lately. A mess that would love to mess around with him, if it doesn’t affect your friendship.</p>
<p>He’s been texting you like normal and you’d followed suit. You’d wait to have ‘the talk’ with him until you see him in person tonight. It’s been over a week since the last time you’d been face to face, at that dinner. In the absence of Black’s meticulous scheduling for training sessions, you’d found it taxing to allot time for all your skeletal companions between work and therapy. Doable, and worth it, but challenging.</p>
<p>You’re looking forward to tonight. That is, up until the moment when Mutt shows up with an unexpected tagalong. Black chauffeured his brother and accompanied Mutt to your doorstep as if he’s an anxious parent dropping his kid off at daycare for the first time.</p>
<p>Mutt passes you to beeline for your couch. He sprawls across it, burying his skull in a throw pillow. Black lingers at the threshold of your apartment. “He Won’t Be Good Company. He’s Been Off His Damned Dog Treats For Forty-Eight Hours And The Withdrawals Are Setting In.”</p>
<p>“You weren’t invited.” You block Black’s entry with your body in the door frame, holding Wuffie’s collar to keep her from leaping to him. Her wagging tail beats against the back of your legs.</p>
<p>“I Know That.” he obstinately taps his foot, attention dithering between your ornery expression and the dog who’s ecstatic to see him. “However, There Are Developments That Necessitate Your Knowledge And Cooperation.”</p>
<p>You swivel to the skeleton shivering and snoozing on your sofa. If Mutt’s getting sober…Black’s right, for once. That’s a development you need to hear about. And Mutt doesn’t look up to explaining. You usher him in.</p>
<p>“Come in. Let’s talk in my bedroom.” It’s uncommon to have a conversation with Black without at least one of you resorting into shouts and you’d rather not burden his brother with that noise. You leave your collie in the hallway, shutting the door before she can slip in.</p>
<p>He’s brazenly judgmental upon entering your chambers. His critical eyelights bounce from heaps of laundry to your messy sheets and his nasal bone rises to take in the air. Several scents he catches seem to disagree with him. “Has Axe Been Here?”</p>
<p>“In my home, yes. In my bedroom, no. What does that matter?”</p>
<p>His scowl deepens. “You Should Have Accepted My Help. The Security Of This Home Of Yours Is Pitifully Nonexistent.”</p>
<p>“Anything said at that unholy hour of the morning isn’t help, it’s heresy.” He’s incensed by your dismissive humor and your aggression spikes in kind. “Don’t get off topic. I let you in to talk about Mutt, not hear you insult my home.”</p>
<p>“Frustrating, Foolish—Fine! We’ll Talk About The Mutt!” he hollers, his hands forming claws. “What <em>Are</em> You Two?”</p>
<p>“We’re friends.”</p>
<p>“I Saw You Snogging Him. Doesn’t That Mean Anything?”</p>
<p>You ball your fists and shake your head. He has no right to interrogate you like this, especially before you’ve even discussed this with Mutt. “That’s personal. None of your business. Unless you’d like to explain more about soul touching. Doesn’t <em>that</em> mean anything?”</p>
<p>You know you’ve got him when his teeth grit and his boots shuffle, clicking against your hardwood floors. “Mutt is sober. Why, Black?”</p>
<p>“We Made A Deal.” You reflexively step back, shoulders tensing. “Not The Kind Of Deal You’d Have Any Objection To. It’s An Arrangement That Our Human Therapist Mediated.”</p>
<p>Your anxiety lessens with that addition and Black continues, calmer, “Mutt Wants Time Away. From Me, And From Responsibility. I Gave Him Two ‘Vacation Days’ A Week. On These Days I Will Expect Nothing From Him But The Barest Assurances Of His Survival And Allow Him Privacy. In Exchange, He Must Maintain Sobriety On All But His ‘Days Off’.”</p>
<p>“He agreed to that?” you press, ignoring the unnerving implication that he didn’t give his brother any privacy previous to this deal.</p>
<p>“He Did. But He May Have Overestimated Himself,” Black’s explanation wavers with concern, “And Underestimated His Dependency. It Will Be Difficult. You Are To Help Him Overcome This In Any Way Possible.”</p>
<p>“Of course, Black. You didn’t need to ask me that. I’ll always help him the best I can. He’s my friend.”</p>
<p>“Friend,” he scoffs, protectiveness hardening his tone. “A Tenuous And Vague Occupation. I Need Assurances That You Will Not <em>Tempt</em> Him Back Into His Drug-Induced Haze. Do Not Drink Or Smoke Around Him While He’s Trying To Be Sober.”</p>
<p>“Easy enough.”</p>
<p>“Call Me Immediately If His Status Worsens Or Becomes Unstable. I Am Allowing Him To Visit You In This State Only Because You Have Shown Initiative To Alerting Me Of His Condition In The Past. I Have Not Forgotten That You Informed Me Of His Safety When Mutt Ran Away. I Wasn’t Pleased With My Brother’s Behavior, But Your Forthrightness In The Face Of It Was…Welcome.”</p>
<p>That sounded suspiciously like gratitude. The crumb of thankfulness manages to soften you a smidgen while Black continually lists his conditions.</p>
<p>“If He Tries To Smoke, Smack It Out Of His Hands! Make It Clear That You Won’t Let Him Cheat His Promises. If I Find Out That You Intentionally Allow Him To Use Under Your Supervision—”</p>
<p>“I won’t,” you interrupt, upset that he’d try to threaten you and imply you’d be irresponsible with Mutt’s recovery.</p>
<p>“Good. I Don’t Expect You To Know Anything Of Monster Medicine, So I Will Be Leaving You With This.” he retrieves a booklet from his jacket pocket. “It Covers The Fundamentals Of How Magical Substances, And Their Sudden Absences, Affect The Soul. Read It As A Reference. And Perhaps Employ Your Odd Occupational Abilities Towards Easing His Symptoms.”</p>
<p>“You’re asking me to give him a massage?”</p>
<p>“Mutt Is Motivated By Touch. It’s His ‘Love Language’, As You Might Say. Comforting Contact Could Prove Beneficial To His Condition.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Okay, then.” That’s unexpectedly thoughtful. You didn’t know Black had even remembered your profession. “Is that everything?”</p>
<p>He scratches his temple. “Are You Certain That You Won’t Accept My Assistance In Improving This Dwelling’s Defense?”</p>
<p>You huff at his insistence. You don’t trust him nearly enough to make decisions about your house. “Yes. I’m sure. Back off, Black.”</p>
<p>“Hmph! Then Yes, That’s Everything.”</p>
<p>You exit into the hallway and this time you’re not fast enough to stop Wuffie from seizing on Black, jumping up on his legs and torso in excitement.</p>
<p>“Greetings, Beast.” He scratches at her ears and squats down so she doesn’t have to leap up to reach him. You find it hard to interrupt as he talks gently into her ear and rubs her belly. When he gets back up, he gives you and your collie one last look before leaving. “I Will Return To Pick Him Up At Eleven O’ Clock P.M., Sharp.”</p>
<p>His sternness reminds you of a protective father telling you to have his daughter home before midnight. “Yeah, yeah. Goodbye.”</p>
<p>You lock the front door behind him and walk over to your friend. Mutt’s stacked every throw pillow you own to tower precariously on the side of his skull. You’re thinking of taking a picture before he tugs you back into the couch, sending the tower toppling and hugging your thighs to his head as he settles atop your lap. “mm. there’s the pillow i was lookin’ for.”</p>
<p>You’re charmed by the clinging but worried by the tremor in his movements. “How are you feeling?”</p>
<p>“sick as a dog,” he mumbles into your thighs. The sound is low and raspy.</p>
<p>You hum sympathetically, stroking the top of his skull. “What’s <em>hounding</em> you?”</p>
<p>“magic’s all over th’ place. restless. shaky.” You open the booklet Black’s given you to search for his symptoms. Mutt is displeased, tossing it out of your hands to clatter onto the carpet. “’n darlin’ stopped petting me.”</p>
<p>“Needy little lapdog. How am I supposed to help if I don’t know how any of this works?”</p>
<p>“’ll tell you how.” He squeezes the underside of your thigh, hand dangerously high up. “you’re gonna help me by not takin’ your hands off me ‘til i forget how my bones are achin’.”</p>
<p>The breathy desperation in his voice reminds you just the sort of horn dog you’re dealing with. “I don’t suppose lowered libido is one of your symptoms, is it?”</p>
<p>He chuckles feebly. “never.”</p>
<p>“I’ll keep my hands on you. But first you’ll need to let me up.” He reluctantly lifts his head from your lap and you stand to readjust. You collect the booklet, placing it safely on the end table and returning to the couch to straddle him. His sporadic shudders can be felt through your lower body and your arms as you hold onto his jacket. “Can I take this off?”</p>
<p>“wouldn’t want it in the way,” he answers immediately.</p>
<p>The coat comes off. It’s curious to see Mutt’s skull bare without his fluffy hood as a halo. His sleeveless turtleneck still blocks access to most of his torso. You tug at his neckline in annoyance. “This too.”</p>
<p>He peels it off. You admire his exposed ribcage and spine. He luxuriates in your attention and drifts his hands up the outside of your thighs and hips. He’s been increasingly bold in his affection since you’d kissed him, testing how far you’d let him go.</p>
<p>“hope you’re plannin’ on utilizin’ all this bare bone, darlin’.”</p>
<p>“Absolutely,” you can’t help but answer with suggestive amusement. The heel of your palm rests on his sternum. You’re going to massage him to the best of your ability. But before that, you’d like to explore what you’re working with. “Is anywhere off-limits?”</p>
<p>“better not go below the belt if you wanna walk anytime soon.”</p>
<p>“Mutt!” you chasten, covering your coloring face in your hands. You’re used to his flirting but not this explicit guarantee of ravishment if your hands were to wander... </p>
<p>“don’t touch my soul either,” he adds, more seriously. His words call your attention to the floating, upside-down heart in his ribcage. It’s pure white, like Black’s, but you notice it’s blurring at the edges.</p>
<p>“Is that normal?” you nod at its wobbly borders.</p>
<p>“no. its missin’ something. jonesing for a good, long puff of dog treat…”</p>
<p> You’re remiss to remind him of his ailments, distracting him with the smoothing of your hands over the planes of his ribs. You’d steer clear of his soul. Won’t make that mistake twice. Or, thrice, rather.</p>
<p>You caress the length of his humerus and ulna down to the intricate bones of his wrists. “I’ll try my best to ease the pain, but I’m still new to monster massage.”</p>
<p>“this a ‘happy ending’ massage?” he teases, his hold on your hips sliding to grip your ass and pull you against his pelvis.  </p>
<p>“It’ll be ending right now if you don’t keep distracting me!” He lifts his hands off you in surrender. You exhale dramatically and continue.</p>
<p>The best place to massage a skeleton, you’d found, is the spine. Its sensitivity makes it easier to work on without wearing down your fingers and exhausting your arms. You gently constrict his backbone. You compress each vertebra before sliding down to the next. With care, you make a wringing motion, turning your fists in opposite directions to slightly stretch the spine.</p>
<p>“how’d you get s’good at this?” he sighs, distant with contentment. </p>
<p>Based off Mutt’s behavior towards Axe so far, you think it’s better not to mention your test subject. Instead, you merely smile and shrug. He inspects you for a moment before closing his sockets. The bodywork is uninterrupted. Mutt is much more open with his reactions to your touch. Axe remained withdrawn and tense regardless of how your touches felt. The skeleton under your hands now is responsive and relaxed. It’s significantly easier to gauge your technique with his positive feedback. Still, it takes a few minutes to see progress. You thoroughly knead his vertebrae and rubdown his humerus before you see any change.</p>
<p>Mutt’s shaking steadies and slows. You think he might be improving before you notice how your hands are heating up where you touch him. Holding the back of your hand to his forehead, you tut at the feverish warmth stinging your skin. “What’s wrong?” you probe, the concern lacing your tone coaxing him from his reverie.</p>
<p>Blood-orange beads of sweat slide down the side of his skull. His eyelights return and shrink down to pinpricks. They falter in his sockets.  “the light,” he grumbles. “there’s too much of it.”</p>
<p>“I can fix it, but I’ll have to take my hands off you.”</p>
<p>“better be quick then.”</p>
<p>You remove yourself from him and walk to the closet to assess your alternate lighting options. You don’t have any lamps, but you do have some candles for emergencies. Lavender-scented. You hope his oversensitive senses don’t include smell. Once the overhead light is off and you’re facing Mutt, nothing covering him but his spiked collar and pants, his bones rosy with warm candlelight…</p>
<p>It’s rather romantic. You’re only missing the trail of rose petals to the bed. Is it wrong of you to find the sight intimate…almost…arousing?</p>
<p>
  <em>End This Moralizing Nonsense. </em>
</p>
<p>You’re bitter that it’s <em>him</em> appearing as the voice of reason in your head. Yet, you can’t help but agree with it. You’ve been doubting yourself too much lately. You deserve to relax, don’t you? To enjoy yourself, have a little frisky fun with your friend. You know he’s more than willing. Mutt’s not feeling well, but he’s in his right mind. A bit bossier than usual. That’s to be expected when you’re suffering. Besides, he says your affection helps him. Hell, even Black basically gave you permission to use touch to get him feeling better.</p>
<p>You wet a wash towel with cold tap water and sit yourself in Mutt’s lap, holding it to his head. “Better?”</p>
<p>“better,” he mutters, sloping into the cool cloth. Your unoccupied hand hooks around his neck and thumbs the base of his skull. Your gaze lingers on the scar down his mandible. Carefully, you bring your lips over it, planting kisses on the healed wound as if they’d erase it.</p>
<p>He cradles your head as he brings his golden fangs down to pepper your neck with skeleton kisses and fragile nibbles. Instead of the soothing feeling of cool metal, you notice his fangs are burning up with the rest of him. The gold is branding in its heat. You pull away, alarmed. “Maybe we should wait until you’re feeling better.”</p>
<p>“’ll be fine. jus’ need…” He pats the pockets of his discarded coat. There’re dog treats stashed in the inner lining. He pulls one out and you’re quick to snatch it away.</p>
<p>“Black told me about your deal. I’m not going to let you go back on it.” Mutt surprises you by snarling and seizing your wrists in one hand. He looms over you, the seriousness in his features visible even in the dim candlelight. The dog treat is crushed in your tense fist pressed into the couch above your head.  </p>
<p>“what’re you doin’, following m’lord’s orders? he hasn’t collared you.” his free hand embraces the skin of your naked neck. His voice is gravely and grave as you squirm in his grip. “you don’t hafta listen to him. you <em>shouldn’t</em> listen to ‘im.”</p>
<p>You struggle with the way your heart is pounding painfully fast at the bones restraining you.  Your hands won’t budge. You’re trapped, bound. You can’t get away. <em>It’s only Mutt</em>, you remind yourself. He’s never hurt you. You have nothing to be afraid of. The adrenaline doesn’t realize this and makes you austere in your response, “I’m not fucking following that bastard’s orders! You’re sober, Black and I happen to agree that we should try to keep you that way. We’re worried about you, numbskull!”</p>
<p>“yer worried?” You’re bewildered as his seriousness slips seamlessly into a vulnerable gratification.</p>
<p>“Obviously! Black and I worry about you all the time. It’s the one thing we have in common.”</p>
<p>His hand leaves your wrists to tangle in your hair. Relief washes away the tension in your muscles as your movement is freed. His teeth nuzzle your neck and he practically collapses on top of you. His bones are balmy. It’s a good thing you have good air conditioning, or you’d be baking under this electric blanket of a skeleton.</p>
<p>His reaction mystifies you. “Did you not notice? I find that hard to believe. Black is downright obnoxious with the level he frets over you.”</p>
<p>“it’s his second full-time job to protect me,” he dismisses. “his <em>work</em>. takes it too seriously.”</p>
<p>You try to sit up straighter at his dismissal, weaseling out from beneath the monster enough to lean your back against the arm of the couch. He passively allows his skull to slide from your neck to your chest. You know Black has an awful way of showing it, but he does care, doesn’t he? Does Mutt not feel that care? If he doesn’t, you’ll just have to make up for it by expressing care of your own.</p>
<p>“It’s my job to protect you, too, you know. That’s what friends are for.” you eye him closely, wary of any flinch or sign that he might disagree with that friendship label in light of your recent romantic activities.</p>
<p>There isn’t one. Mutt merely toys with strands of your hair until letting out a tired sigh that tugs his teeth downward. “then i’m a shitty friend. i didn’t protect you.” Is it selfish of you to assume that means you're on the same page about your relationship?</p>
<p>You run your thumb over his frown, wanting to smooth away that sulking. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not a shitty friend, and what happened wasn’t your fault.”</p>
<p>“…sure,” he mumbles halfheartedly. You watch as he snuggles his skull into your cleavage and shuts his sockets. He doesn’t sound convinced whatsoever. At least his retreat into napping give you a chance to read that booklet Black left you. You’re prickled with concern as you retrieve the packet of information from the end table.</p>
<p>You peruse the chapter on dog treats. Apparently, their magic has a sedative affect on the soul, similar to benzodiazepines. You skim the sections that are less relevant until you find information on withdrawals.</p>
<p>‘…If magical substances are overused, the soul can become reliance on their presence. It mistakes the ‘fix’ for a fixture. It’s because of this that the symptoms of drug withdrawal can mimic those of a bond breaking. In both circumstance the soul is accustomed to foreign magic inhabiting and affecting it. With the sudden absence of the external magic, it’s faced with temporary instability. Soreness, shakiness, and irritability commonly result from this magical volatility. In cases of serious substance abuse, symptoms can escalate. The most dangerous of which are seizures, unresponsiveness, and coma…’</p>
<p>You nervously eye the skeleton resting on you. “Hey,” you pet his skull and delicately squeeze his shoulder, “You still responsive?”</p>
<p>He shudders under your touch. “very.”</p>
<p>“I think you should keep talking. Just so I know you’re not…”</p>
<p>“falling down? ‘m not that fragile, darlin’.”</p>
<p>“C’mon. Keep chatting with me. I know you’re tired but it’s not that hard.”</p>
<p>A self-pleased stubbornness spreads across his skull. That spells nothing good for you. “don’t want to.”</p>
<p>He’s obstinately silent, fallen into faux sleep.</p>
<p>“Mutt!” You shake him. He ragdolls, not reacting. You tap your knuckles against his head, asking, “Anybody home?”</p>
<p>He snickers quietly. You can barely make out a ‘nyeheh’ between his burdened breaths. <em>So cute!  </em>You pretend not to hear him and theatrically huff in disappointment. “Guess he’s dead. Shame. Dead skeletons don’t get kisses.”</p>
<p>Predictably, he stirs and unsteadily lifts himself above you. “He lives,” you remark snidely, unimpressed with his dogged display.</p>
<p>“suppose i could show you ‘m responsive in a different way. no words necessary.” He hovers in your personal bubble, his tone taunting as his distals stroke your jaw.</p>
<p>You can’t stand that adorable damned smirk. You shake your head and seize his collar, yanking him closer, “Shut up and kiss me already!”</p>
<p>“gladly,” he growls, sending his mouth crashing into yours. You brace yourself against the arm of the couch for leverage to push back, refusing to be overwhelmed. There’s a tug of war as his insistent tongue has you wilting until you recover and press forward with your own persistent, pursed lips pursuing him. The back and forth ends when he yanks your hips towards him and you slip, flattened against the cushions.  </p>
<p>Your breaths are heavy from the passionate necking. Your lips are slightly irritated, puffy from pressing against hard bone. It’s impossibly difficult to stop when Mutt keeps looking at you like <em>that</em>.</p>
<p>That half-lidded, smug, reverent, teasing look he manages somehow by barely changing his stoic expression. Even fatigued with withdrawals he can pull off this arrogant yet playful countenance that you find difficult to refuse. </p>
<p>When he’d left that night, you were left pleasantly flustered, riding the high of your physical chemistry and slipping contentedly into your covers. Mutt’s absence by your side felt as the lack of the sun’s warmth after a beautiful sunset, its artful colors still burning in the back of your lids. You missed it but enjoyed the lingering heat in your psyche contrasting with the coolness of solitude.</p>
<p>That changed when you’d spent more time with him. His withdrawal symptoms aren’t contagious, but his friskiness certainly is. The heat stopped cooling when you’re alone. Instead, it only mounts and makes you spin fantasies in your head, of what you’d like to do when you’re with him again. The next few days you’d called off work to take care of him. You’d gone over to his place where you’d spent your time on the couch, periodically alternating between gaming and messy make out sessions. Today is the fifth and final day of his sobriety this week and his condition has improved significantly. The fever is gone. His mood is better. He still shakes as if he’d had too many cups of coffee but the worst of it is over.  </p>
<p>That doesn’t mean his needy lethargy has let up. He’s currently lounging in your lap, watching you play an RPG. He distracts you while you play with sneaky strokes down the exposed skin of your arms and little pinches to your thighs. You pause the game and set your controller to the side. You haven’t been able to focus on it. You need to give voice to the desires building in you, pent up from all Mutt’s mischievous teasing.</p>
<p>“I think…I’m ready,” you murmur to him, uncharacteristically bashful.</p>
<p>“fer what?” His skull perks off your lap to lazily slide his eyelights at you.</p>
<p>“Trying out new things. Kinky things. With you. Is that okay?”</p>
<p>The corner of his mouth quirks up. “very ok.” Before he can make any suggestions on where he’d love for you to begin, you speak up again.</p>
<p>“I want to start off slow! Dip my toes in the water. I was thinking…you could…call me mistress?”</p>
<p>His head tilts to the side. “anythin’ else…mistress?” You shiver. His voice…he said it with such <em>worship</em>. It affected you more than you’d expected.</p>
<p>“I know you said pets weren’t always obedient but, just for today…” you collect yourself, harnessing your confidence and leaning in with a sultry whisper, “be a good boy for me?”</p>
<p>Mutt sucks in a breath, nodding.</p>
<p>Your grin spreads and you slide your arms down his shoulders before circling back up to his collarbone, where you clasp his leash and give it a tug. “Let’s go on a walk.”</p>
<p>A contented rumbling answers. Mutt leans into the feeling of his collar digging against his spine and follows your lead outside to the dirt trail where the backyard meets the forest. Nice and private, no prying eyes. You pause and make a quarter turn to face him. Smirking, you tap a finger against your lips and pretend to think. “My feet are a bit tired…perhaps my loyal Mutt could carry me?”</p>
<p>He lowers himself to your height and you gleefully climb onto his back. Never relinquishing your grip of the leash, you enfold his collarbone with your arms and press your breasts against the back of his ribcage. Your legs wrap around his middle. His bony palms rest on the lower bottoms of your thighs, supporting you.</p>
<p>Once you are situated, he returns to his full height. “Nice view from up here,” you quip. A low chuckle rumbles in his chest and against your core. This closeness… as intimate as a hug but allows you to appreciate the landscape. The autumn is beginning to turn the leaves multicolor and a few have fallen away to cushion your path.</p>
<p>Mutt makes a steady pace along the trail. You bob with his footsteps, the rhythm reminiscent of riding horseback. Your neck tires and you nestle it in the crook of his shoulder.</p>
<p>A sigh escapes you. “You are surprisingly comfortable, for such a bony pet.” Your eyes slide over his profile. His features are peaceful. The harshness of his aloofness has dulled, leaving the same half lidded eyelights and illegible expression yet, gentler. You breathe in. The damp earth mixes wonderfully with the hickory smokiness of his jacket. The fur of his hood tickles your nose a bit and you nuzzle deeper into it. Your eyes slip closed. You focus on the tempo of his footfalls and the way your ribcage feels against his as it rises and falls with each breath.</p>
<p>Your hands begin wandering. One starts idly outlining his collarbone, while the other rises to slip his hood off his skull. It moves into the now exposed space, lightly scratching patterns on his temporal bone. It is lamentable that he has no hair for you to play with, but the smooth plains of his cranium feel almost silken under your palm.</p>
<p>Mutt shivers beneath you.</p>
<p>“Does that feel good?” you whisper into the side of his skull. A nod. You shift your weight so that both your hands are free. Your fingertips gently massage the base of his occipital bone and the top of his spinal cord, giving extra attention to the ridges and spaces between vertebrae. Emboldened by his reactions, one hand sneaks under the fabric of his hoodie to stroke his ribs.</p>
<p>Suddenly, you are whirled around to Mutt’s front. Your hands frantically grasp his hoodie for balance. From this angle you can more fully appreciate the blood orange magic dusting his cheekbones. And the press of something hard against your pelvic region. Curiously, you run your thumb over the pseudo-blush. You lean in slowly, making sure to grind your hips against him as you do so, to press your lips against his teeth.</p>
<p>He reciprocates greedily. His tongue more than makes up for his lack of lips, adeptly ravishing your mouth and leaving behind a bubbly sweetness. Your back is braced against the bark of a nearby tree. Warmth circulates in your soul. Your legs tighten around his waist. You’re left breathless.</p>
<p>As soon as you pull away, you miss the taste of him. Eyeing his blood-orange cheekbones, you lean in once more to lap at the magic there, feeling it fizzle pleasantly on your tongue.</p>
<p>“face lickin’? thought i was the dog here.” Mutt grumbles against your cheek before running a long auburn tongue up and down the side of your face.</p>
<p>You squeal, giggling, “Down! Down boy!” At the command you find yourself on your own two feet, face a bit slobbery, laughing harder than you should be. “It’s not my fault you’re so lick-able. You taste way better than I probably do.”</p>
<p>He runs his tongue over his fangs suggestively. “taste mighty fine ta me, mistress. but i can think of a place tha’d taste even better…”</p>
<p>“I should have known my Mutt was just looking to chase pussy,” you tease, nudging his arm.</p>
<p>“wha’ can i say? ‘s instinct.”</p>
<p>“I’m afraid your instinct’s going to have to be put on hold tonight. I’m all kinked out.”</p>
<p>“that so?”</p>
<p>“Mhm. Though…we might have time for some hand-stuff before sundown.”</p>
<p>Mutt perks up. You swiftly dash his hopes by holding his hand and grinning deviously. “This counts as hand-stuff, right?” you swing your entwined fingers as you begin walking back towards the house.</p>
<p>He glances down at your interwoven hands like he’s not sure what to make of them. You wonder, with all Mutt’s hook-ups and sexual experience, if he’s not used to things as simple and innocent as handholding. That would explain the endearingly cautious grip his phalanges have on you. You give his carpals a reassuring squeeze. You’ll be here by his side as he gets accustomed to intimacy. Who knows? Maybe someday he’ll get his issues worked out and you’ll go out on a real date. <em>One day</em>. The thought fills you with PATIENCE.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the dialogue-heavy chapter but these fuckers won’t shut up. Took awhile to get this one out but the next few are already half written and will be here soon!<br/>Writing a lil make-out scene with Mutt,<br/>Everyone: Don’t say it. Fuck you, author, don’t say it.<br/>Author, not feeling one ounce of guilt: …<br/>tHeIR tOnGuEs BatTLED fOR DoMInANCE!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>M’lord had been very precise in his terms. After the five days of sobriety, at exactly six o’clock in the morning, he knocks on Mutt’s bedroom door with a duffel bag in hand. Mutt’s awake. He’s been waiting for this. It takes a few moments’ pause to realize m’lord isn’t letting himself in like he usually does. He pushes himself away from his desk to open the door.</p>
<p>“You Kept Your End Of The Arrangement And I Am Keeping Mine. Take Your Toys Back,” Black drops the duffel bag and brushes off his hands as if he’s glad to be rid of it. Mutt catches the formerly confiscated drugs, not wanting the flasks of monster alcohol to crush his collection of dog treats and pills. “You Have Forty-Eight Hours Of Freedom. Don’t Forget The Conditions. Assure Me Of Your Safety <em>At Least</em> Once A Day. And Don’t Fuck Anything Up.”</p>
<p>Black doesn’t wait around for a reply and leaves, slamming the door behind him. “that last one wasn’t part o’ the deal. but jus’ fer you, m’lord, i’ll consider it.” Mutt says sardonically to the empty room, shuffling the bulky bag in his arms. He dumps it on his bed and unzips it. Nothing is missing from his stash. The flasks are full and the baggies still intact. Right away, he snatches a dog treat and lights it between his teeth. The smoke soothes his soul. He stands, reveling in how much he’s missed this, eventually drifting to his door to fasten the deadbolt shut.</p>
<p>For the first half hour of his vacation he simply smokes in his desk chair. He watches the locked door, expecting m’lord to come smash it down, raging about how he wasn’t there when Black needed him. But nobody came.</p>
<p>This space is his, for the time being. It normally doesn’t feel this secure. His room is his workplace and his office hours are all day, every day. Now it feels more like a hotel room. Possibly more private than a hotel room since there’s no humans slinking in to clean it if he forgets to put up the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign. He could still put up the sign, for good measure. M’lord wouldn’t find it funny but that makes it better. He shortcuts to a hotel, strolling the halls until he snags one off a doorknob. He doesn’t bother reading it until he hangs it off his own door handle. It says ‘Constructing Pillow Fort. Please Come Back Later’. It earns a half-laugh, a smoky snort. He thinks you’d like it. Would you take it as an invitation, wanting to build a blanket fortress with him?  He might not mind, so long as you do most of the work. And if you allow him to use the cozy construction like a fuck nest. He amuses himself by imagining your adorably indignant expression if you heard him calling your precious pillow fort a ‘fuck nest’.</p>
<p>There’s a commotion upstairs. Blue and this universe’s Papyrus are returning from their morning jog. He usually sleeps through the obnoxious chatter and clatter in the kitchen with coffee being prepared by the noisiest monsters in the house. He returns to his room where the thick walls can buffer the racket.</p>
<p>His eyelights are drawn back to the bag so stuffed with illicit substances that it could overdose a room of humans. It’s odd to see it gathered like this. Usually, it’d all be strewn about for convenient access. Black hadn’t allowed that, not wanting drugs sitting around ‘tempting him’. He hadn’t realized he’d accumulated this much. Unwillingly, Mutt recalls the bullshit Dr. Odinkirk had spewed about his habits. She’d gabbed about ‘letting drugs control you’ or some other classic human fearmongering. Drugs don’t control him. He uses them to control himself. He’d explained as much to the therapist, but she wasn’t convinced. She saw Mutt as the same as all her other pathetic patients. Perhaps it was her doubt in his ability to stop at any time that provoked him into accepting m’lord’s conditions of sobriety. Just thinking of that wrinkled old human writing him down as a junkie in that notebook of hers—Repulsive. The offensively inaccurate label is enough to send a spike of resentment through him, even under the hazy cover of a dog treat.</p>
<p>So what if his soul’s so used to the numbing that he’s practically bonded to it? It’s better than letting his LV run rampant. Far better than being powerless to the storming of emotions that threaten to devastate the few things in his life that he hasn’t fucked up yet. He deserves to reward himself for keeping whatever it is he’s got going for him, going.</p>
<p>He rifles through his hoard of options, pondering how exactly he’ll be rewarding himself in the next two days. He could trip, roll, or sedate himself into oblivion. Hell, he has time to do all three. However, he needs to be reasonable. It wouldn’t do for him to take any stimulants without a project to do. Or take any ecstasy without a person to do. Or take magic-infused heroin when there’s anything that he’s expected to do.</p>
<p>It’s not much, but the deal will mean he’ll need to be mentally with it enough to contact Black, unless he could work his way around it. Automate it. It'd be easy to code a script that would text m’lord ‘i’m fine’ from his number every fifteen minutes. M’lord getting unnecessarily interrupted by his phone buzzing incessantly sounds humorous, but the deal had specified that Black be assured, not just informed, of his wellbeing. That would necessitate a phone call. A phone call means he needs to be able to talk at some point today, so he can’t get <em>too</em> carried away.</p>
<p>He decides to pool those five sober days’ worth of dog treats and laces them with echoflower. A classic combo. They’re much stronger together and his magic will be nearly unusable until it wears off.  That’s alright. He’s home, m’lord’s not far, so there’s no harm in letting his defenses down.</p>
<p>The echoflower sweetens the smoke. Blissful lethargy weighs down his bones and by the time he’s halfway through the last treat, he’s scarcely able to keep upright. He tosses the ashy remnants into his mouth and collapses onto the mattress. Ultimate contentment. Reality is a dream and just as hard to remember. Images flash between bouts of blankness. His awareness of time is fuzzy, imperfect. Hours float by effortlessly. Until they begin to drag, precluding the crash. He’s not ready for that. He delays it with another influx of magical substances. He pops a handful of pills and passes into a daze.</p>
<p>When Mutt comes to, it’s dark. His skull aches. It’s not the worst hangover he’s had, but it’s up there. There’s a lukewarm glass of water on his bedside table. He chugs it down and fumbles for his phone. It’s two in the morning, the next day. Only four hours until his vacation is over. Too short. He sits up, trying to get his bearings. The bedroom door is unlocked. He checks his messages and call log. It looks as if on the first day he’d called m’lord and fulfilled his end of the bargain. The second day, however, Black had to call him and it’d lasted <em>seventy minutes</em>. What’d happened? He has no unread messages, but he opens his texts with you to see there’s a recent conversation he has no recollection of. He’d sent you some gibberish. His phalanges were too shaky and his vision to distorted to type out a comprehensible sentence. You’d responded with concern.</p>
<p>y/n: What?</p>
<p>y/n: Are you okay??</p>
<p>y/n: Black tells me you’re bingeing, but otherwise safe. Warn me next time, ok? And pro tip—text to speech is easier than typing when wasted.</p>
<p>He’s relieved. You’re not angry with him and he didn’t say anything he regrets. That’s a win, in his book. A steaming shower gets him out of his stale clothes and feeling marginally fresher. He’s reluctant but prepared when Black comes barging into his bedroom at six a.m.</p>
<p>“Time’s Up!” Black pulls out a small notebook from his pocket to take stock of the bag’s contents. He takes stock, sockets boggling as it registers how much less there is from last week. “You Used <em>This Much</em>?!”</p>
<p>Mutt shrugs. He doesn’t remember how much he took, but if it’s missing it must’ve been put to use.</p>
<p>“If I Find Out You’re Misleading Me, Hiding Any Of This,” Black aggressively aims a phalanx at the ledger, “For Later Use When You’re SUPPOSED To Be Sober, I Will Have To Punish You. <em>Harshly</em>. For Violating Your Word.”</p>
<p>His jaw tightens. There’s no need to remind him of what he’s been trying and failing to forget—That another screw up will seriously hurt him. Hurt <em>you</em>. Whether Black decides to trap and whip you again, or to tell you Mutt’s dirty secret…Either is intolerable.</p>
<p>He notices Mutt’s defeated obstinance and instead of brushing it off, his posture falters. “I Haven’t Forgotten What You Told Me Yesterday,” he starts solemnly.</p>
<p><em>you may not have forgotten what i told you, but i have. what the hell did i say?</em> Mutt mulls it over, thinking back to that hour-long phone conversation. <em>it must have been serious. he’s hesitating.</em></p>
<p>“My Hostility Is…Misplaced. We Are Allies. Brothers. I Will Regard You Accordingly. It Is Fitting That The Family Of A Feared And Powerful Monster Such As Myself Be Treated With A Measure Of Esteem,” Black pauses, a sneer butting through his hesitant expression. “However, Do Not Misunderstand. Respect Must Be Earned. And Though We Are Allies, There Is A Part Of You That Threatens That Partnership And Yourself. That Self-Destructive Corruption Seeks To Destroy You, To Annihilate <em>My</em> Ally. Therefore, That Part Of You Will Always Be My Enemy. I Will Root It Out, Or Control It, No Matter What Measures You Take To Protect It And By Any Means Necessary. Is That Understood?”</p>
<p>“yes, m’lord.” he answers automatically. It’s a lie. He doesn’t understand at all. Where is this coming from?</p>
<p>“Then Let’s Get To Work…Brother.”</p>
<p>Is he still high? Delusional? Dreaming? The day is standard in routine yet completely alien in atmosphere. M’lord is careful around him, choosing his words with caution. Mutt is too distracted with the odd behavior to be belligerent. Black’s mood is cloudy and obscured. He’s clearly grappling with something that Mutt is unaware of, and has been for quite some time. It’s unlike him to keep secrets. Mutt can’t help but be suspicious.</p>
<p>It's frustrating. Just as Black declared war against the self-destructive parts of his brother, Mutt finds himself at war with parts of Black. The threats, enmity, strictness, and of course the ever-tightening noose of obligation stemming from Black never cease to stir his defenses. There’s opposition, there. Vicious and unfettered by restraint. Under it, deeply, deeply rooted beneath, is kinship. Mutt’s concerned. When his brother isn’t provoking him, Mutt feels a familiar, familial warmth. Even when he doesn’t feel it, he remembers it. And that feeling won’t allow m’lord to suffer alone with whatever bane is plaguing him. His turbulent mood and uncharacteristic behavior began roughly around the time he started going to therapy. Mutt hopes it has something to do with it, and that through his participation in therapy, he will understand what’s having this effect on his brother.</p>
<p>The resolve lasts until the next day. His withdrawals are returning and with the discomfort, his self-control stretched thin, there’s no room in his head for Black. All his concern is for himself as he struggles in his sobriety. Dr. Odinkirk told him about the importance of replacing behaviors when overcoming addiction. It’s the one thing she’d said that’d made some solid sense to him. When that craving for a dog treat between his teeth got to be too much, when his magic was unstable and unfulfilled, you’d been there for him. You’d comforted him. Those soft, skillful, hands…your affection and sweet intentions…Mutt wants to breath you in. Your scent soothes his soul almost as well as smoke. His mouth could be kept occupied with better, tastier pastimes. Mutt’s addled mind attempts to weave together a plan to get to you. You’re working today. He could visit during your break? Surely m’lord wouldn’t miss him if he’d disappear for an hour or so.</p>
<p>The absconding is scheduled. He’s dropped you off at work before, so when it’s time for your lunch he’s able to take a shortcut to the quaint little massage spa where you’re waiting for him in the lobby.</p>
<p>“Hey,” you straighten and walk towards him. He loves the way you perk up when you see him, the casual but genuine joy in your voice. “What’s the occasion?”</p>
<p>“brought you somethin’.” You scan him up and down but see nothing but Mutt’s usual getup and his hands deep in his pockets, restraining them from reaching for you while a tired looking receptionist sits not five feet away.</p>
<p>“What is it?” He sends a long look at that coworker. Mutt might not mind having an audience but it’s likely you wouldn’t. You get the idea and nod, leading him into an empty room where you could be alone. The light is dim and warm. There’s a massage table in the center of the room, and a water feature against the wall that bubbles and streams, adding a calming ambience. But he’s not here for the fucking ambience. His twitchy hands free themselves from his pockets and latch onto you, pulling you into a hug. Mutt inhales deeply into your neck. Mmm. Much better.</p>
<p>“Is that what you wanted to give me? A hug?” you whisper into his shoulder. You pull away, and by the coy smile on your lips you’re probably thinking about how cute he is. He’s lucky. <em>So</em> lucky. What would he do, if you didn’t find him endearing? If he couldn’t coax fondness from you with his bony body? He’d rather not think about it. “Thank you. But next time, you should bring me chocolate chip cookies.”</p>
<p>He knows you’re joking, but he’s considering it. It couldn’t hurt to butter you up with food. And then he could share it with you, taking bites of it from your mouth and tasting its sweetness on your tongue…and before he’s even bothered to respond, his teeth are pressing into your lips, backing you up against the table. His hands lift your thighs until you’re seated. He nudges your legs apart with his body pressed his pelvis against yours. His tongue slips into the warm cavern of your mouth and he feels you suck on it slightly. He withholds a smug chuckle. You love the taste of his magic, don’t you? And he’d love to feed it to you, until you’re choking on it and his rusty orange fluids leak from your lips. The image, matched with the sensation of your heated kiss, has his boner forming in his pants. There’s a delicious friction as he grinds it into you. To his surprise and pleasure, you slide the palm of your hand over his clothed cock, halting the kiss to smirk at him.</p>
<p>“Or…is <em>this</em> what you wanted to give me, Mutt?” you emphasize your words with a teasing squeeze to his shaft. He shudders. Sweat drips down his skull as he nods needily. “You naughty boy. I’m at work.”</p>
<p>You don’t sound terribly troubled, though. Your legs wrap around his waist and pull him close as you thoughtfully stroke your fingers over his cheekbones. “And you gave me a scare this weekend. I know binges aren’t dangerous for monsters in the same way they are for humans, but it’s obviously made your withdrawals worse.”</p>
<p>“you can tell?”</p>
<p>You roll your eyes. “You’re sweating. You haven’t made any flirtatious puns all week. And you’re shaking so hard that it feels like I’ve got my legs wrapped around a dryer,” you seem oddly gratified by that last observation, the heat of your core insistently seeking his rattling bones. Not one to deny you, he pushes until your back is resting on the table and he can properly hump you into it, over your clothes.</p>
<p>“it helps, havin’ you close like this.” his phalanges slip under your top to stroke your smooth stomach. “touchin’ you. feelin’ you around me.” He hopes sharing how you affect him will make you more inclined to be his replacement drug, to let him use you to make himself feel better.</p>
<p>He rolls against you again and your head rolls back, eyelids fluttering as you moan breathily. “I can only ‘help’ for ten more minutes. Break’s almost over.”</p>
<p>“what ‘bout tonight?” he probes, rubbing his rough carpals over your hips and waist.</p>
<p>“Can’t,” your breath is uneven, and Mutt loves the way he can see your breasts rise and fall from this angle between your legs. “Fang’s teaching me tai chi.”</p>
<p>“tomorrow?” he presses, with words and body.</p>
<p>“Mm! Ah…nope. Going to paintball with Blueberry and—"</p>
<p>He smothers your mouth with his, not wanting to hear their names out of your lips when you’re like this. It sounds too wanton. He knows they aren’t here to hear it, and he was the one who asked, but he hates it. “i’m going with you.”</p>
<p>Your face scrunches up. “I’d have invited you if I thought you’d be interested.”</p>
<p>“’m only interested in stayin’ close.”</p>
<p>You grab his hands, making him pause his caresses while you consider. “It’d be good to have you there. I’d love to have my friends spend more time together. Plus, with you we’ll have even teams for paintball.”</p>
<p>“mhm.” He’s not sure what paintball is, but he’ll put up with it if it means more time with you.</p>
<p>“But you have to do me a favor, first.” You prop yourself up on your elbows, meeting his eyes. He’s quiet, waiting for you to continue. Your tone is teasingly reproachful as you explain, “Since it’s <em>someone’s</em> fault that my panties are wet, that someone should take responsibility and shortcut to my apartment to get me a fresh pair.”</p>
<p>Verification that he’d gotten you wet and an excuse to rifle through your underwear drawer? He’s a lucky dog, indeed. “certaintly, mistress.” His thoughts must be apparent as you blush and shoo him off. He’s sure to dig up the most ridiculously scant panties he can find for you to wear when he hesitates. You’re seeing Fang tonight. What if the blaster got a peek of your lacy panties and thought you’d dressed up for him? Mutt growls in your empty bedroom. No, that wouldn’t happen. He’ll be there and Fang will <em>not</em> be seeing your underthings. He returns to your work, underwear in his pocket. He dangles it in front of you but before you can snatch it away, he lifts it out of reach. “trade? old for new?”</p>
<p>His eyelights drop to where he knows your current clothing is soaked through with your arousal. Drool dribbles from his teeth as he thinks about what he could do with such a lovely gift. Unfortunately, you’re too embarrassed at the idea to consider it and instead hop to try and steal the panties from his hand. Mutt is entertained by watching your tits bounce as you jump up and down.</p>
<p>“Urgh, bad dog!” you chide, “Drop it! Droppp iit!” He lowers his arm just enough for you to reach it on your tippy toes and you snatch them up with a victorious grin. You’re so cute. He rests his hand on your head, giving your hair a ruffle.</p>
<p>“’ll see you tonight, darlin’.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Black, calling to check in: Are You Okay?<br/>Mutt, blitzed out of his mind and an emotional trash fire: nothing matters and is anything even real??<br/>Black: ...<br/>That’s A No, Then.</p>
<p>Since Mutt is used to keeping his drug antics to himself because of Black's disapproval, I imagine a situation where he's bingeing AND Black's around is a new thing. Thusly, things might get a little interesting. The next chapter will continue with Mutt's perspective, it was meant to be all in one but holy hell it got long.</p>
<p>Sorry I updated a bit slower than expected, I'm working on a new story! It'll be another reverse harem where the reader character is a skeleton. This story will still be my main hoe tho, don't worry ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mutt teleports home and reluctantly chips away at the tasks m’lord will want done before he can have any fun with you tonight. It goes by faster, knowing what’s waiting on the other side of his workload. It’s still not nearly fast enough as his restless hands mash away at his keyboard for three impatient hours. His work has been complete for ten minutes when you knock at his door. You’ve forgone your work uniform in favor of athletic leggings and tank top. They’re skintight. Once Mutt gets a chance to stare at your ass, he can see the subtle outline of the panties he’d picked out for you through the thin fabric. Are you doing this on purpose? Giving him a show while he watches you train?</p>
<p>He makes sure to let you know exactly how he’d love to rip up those leggings as you walk together to the backyard. Fang is waiting on the border of the forest, seated on his meditation mat. He’s focused on fiddling with a puzzle box. You slink into his line of sight, hands clasped behind your back, asking coquettishly, “What are we learning today, sensei?”</p>
<p>He fumbles one of the pieces and vacantly ponders its presence on the ground for a moment before abandoning it, standing up to greet you. The skull tilted downwards to meet your eyes is ever so slightly brushed with blue. Mutt looks on in amusement. Much like m’lord, Fang’s flustered by your use of honorifics. He’s not sure what he was worried about, with this one. Fang wouldn’t be seeing your panties. Not if he couldn’t even take a pinch of your teasing without becoming rattled.</p>
<p>“push hands,” the shy skeleton replies, and you light up with anticipation.</p>
<p>“Oh, I love push hands! Are we training here, or your room?”</p>
<p>Fang scans the surroundings, surveying the area before his scrutiny falls on Mutt. “here,” he decides.</p>
<p>“Alright,” you rub your hands together and sway your arms into stretches. “Let’s get started.”</p>
<p>He guides you through warm up exercises. Mutt leans against the bark of a tree, feeling it scratch against his spine as he slides down into a seated position. Seeing your slow, steady movements is akin to watching the flickering of flame or fish floundering about in an aquarium. It’s relaxing. Mutt yawns. He wonders if he can catch a few z’s. He didn’t get much sleep and exhaustion is seeping into his bones. Fang’s with you, so you should be safe, right? The big guy is mostly harmless. Too much of a virgin to try anything with you.</p>
<p>Mutt dozes off. When he comes to, you’ve changed positions. Fang’s flat palm pushes your arm against your chest. You turn your hips, pushing back until your positions have reversed and you’re pinning his radius against his ribcage. Contact is never lost, keeping you connected through the motion. The back and forth is repeated in fluid rhythm. It looks like an odd cross between dancing and fighting. You’re entirely wrapped up in it. While your concentrated countenance is enjoyable to watch, that your attention is so utterly absorbed with Fang makes Mutt feel like a third wheel. An awkward audience to this perplexing partnered pushing.</p>
<p>“if you wanted t’dance, darlin’, my lap’s right ‘ere,” he emphasizes with a gesture to his pelvis.</p>
<p>“Don’t distract me, horndog,” you warn lightheartedly, eyes not leaving the skeleton in front of you.  “I need to concentrate.”</p>
<p>“doesn’t look so hard." he separates his back from the tree and gets to his feet. “lemme try it.”</p>
<p>You and Fang pull apart to turn to him in pleasant surprise. “It’s not as easy as it looks. Fang, are you okay if he gives it a go?”</p>
<p>He nods, eyeing Mutt appraisingly, “i’ll teach, if you’ll learn. you saw the forms?” Mutt shrugs. He got the gist of it. “focus on redirecting force.”</p>
<p>The two monsters assume a wide defensive stance across from each other, while you find a stump to sit on. Mutt allows Fang to give the first “push”. A mellow nudge to the bones of his arm and he swivels his posture to derail it, as he saw you did. He returns the push and they set off into the flowing pattern. Pressing, passing, deflecting. It’s easy. It’s a simple drill, and Mutt’s not sure if it could do much for him, training wise. Not that he’s complaining. Combat training is m’lord’s schtick, not his own. He prefers to hone his abilities in battle, not a mockery of it.</p>
<p>He becomes familiar with the rhythm and it’s when his attention drifts that Fang increases the force of his movements. Mutt strains to stay steady. Despite his attempts, he stumbles back.</p>
<p>“balance,” Fang coaches. He watches Mutt regain equilibrium. His serenity is subtly smug. At least, that’s what Mutt sees as he resumes starting position, set on giving Fang a taste of his own medicine. From then on, the effort behind each of Fang’s pushes fluctuates at random. Mutt must be prepared for all possibilities or else he’ll over or under correct and lose stability.</p>
<p>Fang puts his weight behind the next push and it’s substantially stronger than its predecessors. There’s no way he used this much force with you, you would’ve been thrown off your feet. Is he trying to catch Mutt off guard again? He counters with a significant shove of his own. Fang merely shrugs off the momentum, letting Mutt fall forward with the follow-through of his push.</p>
<p>“Play nice, boys,” you reprimand from your seat. “It’s a drill not a duel.”</p>
<p>“mm,” Fang acknowledges apologetically, head lowered to you in bashful indignity. Mutt’s fingers curl in the dirt. Fang extends an arm to help Mutt up and his grip is punishing, expression unyielding. The message is received loud and clear. Fang’s not just showing off for your benefit. He’s making certain Mutt knows that his passivity doesn’t make him an easy target. He’s not to be fucked with.</p>
<p>Mutt’s got a message of his own. He’s not going to lay back and let Fang push him around. Especially not in front of you, no way in hell. He gnashes his teeth. The next round of repetitive pushes quickly devolves into jabs and then full-on blows. They strike with closed fists or the heel of their palms. The skirmish is oriented towards knocking your opponent of his feet rather than slicing and dicing. Mutt finds himself grateful for this. His phalanges are long and sharp, but they’re pitiful in comparison to Fang’s daggerlike claws. A fistfight gives him better odds. Sweat accumulates on his browbone and though his jitteriness makes him feel faster, it’s likely his sporadic movements aren’t doing much for his stamina. His bones bruise under each blow. He’s not the only one taking damage as Fang’s own colorful contusions cover his collarbones and cheek.</p>
<p>“Seriously?” you call out in annoyed confusion from your stump-seat. “This isn’t even push hands anymore. If you’re going to do all these crazy fighting moves you can at least let me in on it!”</p>
<p>Halfheartedly, Fang calls out tips and techniques while he spars. The brawl ends once the day’s last light is fading and you head home. When Mutt moves to follow you to your car, he’s thwarted.</p>
<p>The points of claws pierce the material of his jacket as Fang stops him by his shoulder, whispering, “hurt her again, and you’re dust.” Uncharacteristic aggression laces the hushed threat, the beginnings of a snarl tugging his teeth. Oh. Is that what it was about? Mutt was complicit in your torture, so Fang is being…protective. He thought it was a pissing contest. Really, it’s Fang being a good friend, way better of a friend than Mutt is. Did he have the spine to threaten m’lord on your behalf?</p>
<p>Self-disgust roils in his soul and sends spikes of resentment running through him. He sneers at Fang, taunting, “and if she wants me t’hurt her?”</p>
<p>Fang merely growls in response. His sockets are narrowed. He releases Mutt and stalks off, disappearing into the trees. Mutt scoffs, shaking himself off. Despite how irritating is to have the oversized blaster tossing him around and making him share his time with you, a begrudging respect for him has snuck in past the annoyance. He’s bitter that he can’t be the better friend. But since he can’t…it’s good that Fang is looking out for you. He shortcuts to the driveway.</p>
<p>He catches you putting your keys in the car door. Mutt presses up behind you, pulling you into a backwards hug by your waist, as he had when he met you on your rooftop that night.</p>
<p>“Mutt?” you inquire, “Or is this Papyrus, the evil twin?”</p>
<p>You remember that? You must have been less hammered than he was. He snickers, nuzzling teeth into your neck. “definitely th’evil one.”</p>
<p>Your hand curls back onto his collar where it pulls his skull down to meet your lips. “Thought so. I’ve never seen Fang act as aggressive as he did today. I’m starting to think you’re a bad influence on him.”</p>
<p>“’m i a bad influence on <em>you</em>, mistress?” asks while his hands descend to cup your ass, tracing your panty line with a distal. He finds himself liking the idea. Both that he holds influence over you and that influence tempts you towards delectable depravity…</p>
<p>“Undoubtedly,” you sigh, swiveling to face him, leaning your back against your vehicle. “You have thoroughly corrupted me, I’m afraid.”</p>
<p>“hm,” he grunts, half skeptical half satisfied. Rear out of reach, Mutt instead teases your waistband. “think there’s a few places i haven’t touched with my corruption, yet.”</p>
<p>“Patience, my pet. Patience and—” you collect yourself and remember your setting, plucking his hand from where it lingers to slip under your leggings. The elastic waistband snaps back in place over your skin. “Paintball. You’re going to need a good night’s rest for it. Wear clothing you don’t mind getting ruined. I’ll meet you here with Blueberry and Fang at five, okay?”</p>
<p>No luck for him tonight. You’re cutting him off. He sighs, putting his hands back in his pockets. At least he knows he’ll get more time with you tomorrow. He watches you drive off. The catharsis of the scuffle and the comfort of your parting kisses combine to leave him a curious, energized contentment. It’s not the intense rush of death dealing but he’ll take it. The warm invigoration has faded entirely by morning. The next day is rough. His withdrawals are back in full swing but m’lord doesn’t go easy on him, seeing as he’d already be over the worst of it if he hadn’t indulged this weekend. It feels like a long, long time before he can see you and by then, he barely notices or cares about the other two monsters with you. He snags shotgun and snoozes in the smell of you soaking the car as you chauffer him to paintball. </p>
<p>You pull up to a warehouse-like building. It’s ugly and plain. You park and they find that the place’s interior has no charm either, just guns. Loads of guns. Bizarre looking ones, with long barrels and odd canisters of colorful spheres screwed in the top. The titular paintballs, he assumes. He thinks he’d rather like to see those red-orange paint pellets splattering you up and down. Unfortunately, they’re few and far between. Most of them are yellow, blue, and green.</p>
<p>The human employee explains the safety guidelines and taps the ‘no magic’ rule that was recently boarded on beneath the others. She offers them rentals of protective equipment. Mutt takes a helmet to avoid the likelihood of paint in his sockets.</p>
<p>The indoor arena where they’ll be playing is one of the most hideous rooms Mutt’s ever laid eyelights on. The lighting is cold and harsh, the ground is carpeted with fake grass. Giant inflated obstacles provide cover and hiding spots for navigating the field. There’s even a mock house and an entirely trashed up, paint covered car with all its doors removed. It’s an eyesore, but it’ll be a make an interesting battleground.</p>
<p>Blueberry is quick to latch on to you. He claims you as his teammate for the first match. Mutt watches the smaller skeleton get geared up, cheerfully chatting with you as he checks the safety. He looks comfortable holding a gun, but Mutt doubts that he has any real experience with one. Maybe he took a few of the Royal Guard’s firearms courses and fancies himself a marksman. Mutt’s done much more than practice. Granted…most of his firing has been close range, basically point blank. When his target has a weapon, he’ll disarm him and use the gun against its owner, not wasting his magic when the bounty insists on providing such an easy means of disposing of him. Occasionally, a difficult target may warrant the acquisition of a sniper rifle. Mutt’s aim isn’t stellar, but he gets the job done. Blueberry won’t stand a chance.</p>
<p>Seeing a version of his brother that’s so pathetic is cute, in a pitiful way. Like seeing a corgi with its stubby legs and docked tail. In a different world, that corgi would have been a fearsome wolf. But Blue’s not from that different world. And while he may have kept the oversized ears and vestigial claws, he’s no threat. All yappy, high-pitched bark and no bite. Still, he finds himself wondering what Fang’s assessment of their enemy team member is.</p>
<p>“any advice on the runt?”</p>
<p>Fang quietly considers for a moment. “he’s…sneaky. watch him.”</p>
<p>He nods acknowledgement, starting to analyze his own teammate as they split off to flank your base. Fang is so tall that he has to constantly duck to keep his skull beneath cover. He’s a big target, but judging by his combat competency, he’ll be a good teammate. It’s bizarre to have Fang on his side after their brawl yesterday. It’s just a game. Yet, cooperating with the eccentric recluse means Mutt must consider him an ally…if only temporarily.</p>
<p>He slinks from cover to cover, peering around each blockade. He finds you down his sights and a strange sensation stirs in his soul. Your head is lined up with his barrel. His trigger finger quivers. He swallows drily. You’re not his target, you’ll never be his target. You’re a separate category from the fodder he slakes his LV with. Killing you would feel different…right?</p>
<p>It would feel much different. <em>Better</em>, something tells him. He’d have to savor it. He would chase, taking his time. And he wouldn’t just leave your corpse there, for anyone to stumble on. He’d take a trophy. A lock of hair, a bit of bone. A reminder of the unparalleled bliss of catching you, claiming you, killing you…No, what the hell is he thinking? His whole body is trembling, breaths are short and shallow and—</p>
<p>Shots are fired. They sound silenced, not nearly as earsplitting as they should. Mutt’s nonexistent gut caves in on itself in the moments before a stream of pellets connect with his spine, reverberating through his bones.</p>
<p>“You’re Out!” Blueberry cheers from his six.</p>
<p>He blankly stares at the smattering of color on his shoulders. Right, it’s just paint. They’re not real bullets, and it as him who got shot, not Y/N.  He comes back to himself, sloughing off those dangerous thoughts in favor of getting peeved that Blueberry got the jump on him. It’s not fair, that he is so teeny a target. A speedy, slippery little bastard. He should just stand still for a moment and let Mutt unload a dozen rounds into him. He grumbles while skulking to the edge of the arena where he can wait for the next round. </p>
<p>He tries. <em>Really</em> tries, to not think about it. He blames it on the withdrawals. He’s off-kilter, unstable. He doesn’t really want to do…that. It’s just been a while since his last kill. He only wishes he could have you alone somewhere, without these weapons and other monsters around. He’s not sure paintball is such a good idea. Playing at this, trying to pick off the other monsters until he can have you to himself and then finishing you off to claim victory… it doesn’t feel right. And it feels too right, all at once. He grinds his carpals into his sockets, revolted and appalled at himself. He must be the worst friend ever. To not only fail to protect you, but for moment, to consider…</p>
<p>After minutes that feel like weeks, you come to him. “I won!” you announce merrily, delightfully ignorant of his moment of LV-induced weakness. “Do you want to pair up this time?”</p>
<p>He’s more comfortable having you by and on his side. Having you join him while gleefully dusting the others is—No, not dusting. Covering with paint, that’s all.</p>
<p>He forces his thoughts down and agrees, following you to the opposite end of the arena. This round, Fang ups his strategy. He takes advantage of his agility to bound from the tops of the barriers and attack from above where you thought you were safe. He sees you wandering to the edge of the room with a few splatters on top of your helmet. With both Blueberry and Fang focusing him, the former sneaking in his periphery and the later literally jumping in front of him, it wasn’t long before Mutt joined you in getting pummeled with paint. At least he got a shot off on Fang.</p>
<p>“It’s like laser tag all over again. You’re too good at this, Blueberry,” you complain between rounds, removing your helmet to itch your brow and take a few swigs of your water bottle.</p>
<p>“You Think So?” Blue probes pathetically, stars in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Yeah. Maybe you should join up with Mutt this time. Even out the teams. I think he’s having trouble shooting straight, with those shakes he has.”</p>
<p>Mutt snorts. He’s not having trouble shooting straight. These paintball guns are having trouble not being shitty. Their accuracy is about as reliable as a boy who just learned to piss standing up. Give him a real gun and he’ll be able to show you just how well he can …Nevermind. Bad idea. <em>Do not</em> give him a real gun right now.</p>
<p>He languidly follows Blue to their base. Without needing to think about it much, Mutt shoots Blueberry as soon as his back is turned. He jumps around with righteous indignation in his eyes, “Really, Mutt? I’m Your Teammate!!”</p>
<p>Mutt had been wanting to do that for a while. “oops,” he shrugs. Regret is unmistakably absent from his visage. An avid rule follower, Blueberry dismisses himself from the match with a pout, muttering about ‘honor’ and ‘villains’ under his breath. One down, two to go.</p>
<p>He finds himself a corner to camp out in, keeping his eyes in the sky incase Fang makes an appearance. Sure enough, the blaster uses his cover as a landing pad and Mutt shoots him right between the ribs.</p>
<p>“gotcha,” he goads, giving him an impish wave as Fang walks off, ignoring Mutt’s unsportsmanlike behavior. He takes a seat in the outskirts of the arena with Blueberry.</p>
<p>Now, Mutt just has to wait for you to stumble upon his hideout. Or he could steal a page from Fang’s book. Since the blaster was on your team this round, you wouldn’t be expecting a strike from above. He hoists himself onto the blockade and uses the high ground to locate you a dozen yards away, kneeling by the car, carefully peering in the direction of the gunfire from beneath the frame. You wouldn’t see him coming. Even if you did, he’s good at dodging. Usually. He might be having an off day, so it’s good that he crosses the distance to you unspotted.</p>
<p>He silently lands on the roof of the junked vehicle and plucks you off the ground to hoist you over his shoulder. You lose your grip on your gun in shock, yelling, “Hey, what the hell?” as Mutt carries you towards the losers he’d shot. They don’t seem particularly pleased to see his prize, lower legs flailing, thighs secured by his arm. Blueberry looks like he’s about to have a conniption.</p>
<p>“i won.” he brags simply, giving a good pat to your ass for emphasis.</p>
<p>“You never even shot me, numbskull! I’m technically still in this!” you correct, stern voice muffled by his back.</p>
<p>Blueberry butts in, “I Agree With Y/N, This Is Hardly A Proper Victory! Unhand The Maiden At Once!”</p>
<p>“hmm…nah.” He likes carrying you.</p>
<p>Your sternness turns saccharine as you switch strategies, “Mutt, if you don’t put me down, how are you going to claim your victory kiss?”</p>
<p>“V-Victory Kiss?!”</p>
<p>“Yup. Winner gets a smooch from the human. It’s a rule I made up, just now.”</p>
<p>“you do make the rules, mistress,” he allows you to slide down his shoulder until your feet on the floor. You take off your helmets and get up on the point of your toes to mash your warm lips against his cheekbone.</p>
<p>“nyeheh. victory’s sweet,” he gloats, smug at Blueberry’s shocked outrage over the innocent kiss until a burst of pain in his foot jolts him out of it. You smile, resting the barrel of his gun on your shoulder. You distracted him, stole his gun and shoot a fat green paint pellet at his shoes. <em>Ouch</em>. Those things bite at close quarters.</p>
<p>“Victory <em>is</em> sweet,” you echo. Mutt’s peeved you pulled a fast one on him but can’t stay upset at your sexy smirk.  You walk over to Blueberry, who’s astounded by your duplicitous tactics. “Blue, you won quite a few rounds, didn’t you?”</p>
<p>“…I Did,” he pouts petulantly. “Five Rounds.”</p>
<p>“Five kisses for five wins?” you prod, seeking his permission. Blueberry’s eyesockets widen to ridiculous proportions as he grasps your meaning. He nods overenthusiastically and you hold his cheek to keep his skull from bobbing as you plant five pecks on his cheekbone. “One,” smooch, “two,” smooch, “three,” smooch, “four”, smooch, “and five,” the last kiss lingers a bit as you realize the area has become incredibly saturated with blue magic.</p>
<p>By the look on your face, you’re probably wondering how it tastes. Greedy mistress. Isn’t Mutt’s magic enough for you? He shouldn’t have let you go, instead carrying you the whole way home and into his bed and feeding you so much magic of his magic that you get drunk on it. When you step away, Blueberry covers the cheek you kissed with a gloved hand, awestruck. You then step in front of the tallest skeleton. “How many rounds did you win, Fang?”</p>
<p>“can’t—can’t remember,” he admits, stammering. He’s already blushing before you’ve so much as touched him.</p>
<p>“You were teamed up with Blueberry a couple of the times he won, I think. That’s two kisses,” you ponder aloud, looking up at his unreachable height, “But you’ll need to lean down for me.”</p>
<p>Gradually, Fang lowers his head to yours and you plant a kiss on each side of his skull. He hesitates, dazed, before bringing his head back over his shoulders.  </p>
<p>The two blue-magicked skeletons were standing there, clutching their cheekbones like idiots when the employee comes over the intercom, calling “Time’s up! Please return your equipment to the front desk.”</p>
<p>The drive home is quiet. Each of the skeletons has a lot on his mind. Mutt leans his skull against the cold hardness of the passenger side window. You drum your fingers on the steering wheel and hum along to the radio, in a jovial mood. He figures if you’re happy, he must’ve done <em>something</em> right today.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I listened to the pillar men “Awaken” theme writing about Fang and Mutt doing push hands, lmao. It just fit, what can I say. Fang's a pretty peaceful guy but when Mutt's asking for a lesson, he'll give him one alright. </p>
<p>I had to split this chapter AGAIN because it got too big. This time, the last part of this Mutt POV trilogy is already written and lemme tell you. It is smutty. Almost a hundred percent smut. Or should I say, s-mutt? Lmao. Just saying, get ready. And if you’re not into lemons, then be ready to skip and ignore the next chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20*</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In honor of letsallbecalmchaps calling Blue and Mutt simps, I have created...<br/>The Good Boy Simp Scale:<br/>1-Not a Simp. This would be Black and Axe. You have to actually be NICE to the lady you like in order to be a simp. Once Black gets over his denial, he will jump to MEGA simp.<br/>2-Simp-adjacent. Fang falls in this category. He is sweet to reader but since simp has negative connotations it obviously can’t really apply to Fang because he’s a good boi. His kindness is selfless and genuine, i.e. not just to get laid.<br/>3-Slightly Simpish. Stretch may have caught some of his older bro’s ideas about how to treat a lady which entails white knighting and loads of simpin’. His shyness means he’d never be as openly eager for Reader’s affections as a Full Simp, however.<br/>4-Full Simp. Mutt is a hoes before bros kinda guy and it shows. He do be simpin’ tho. If reader was a titty streamer he’d be dropping fat stacks on your twitch account.<br/>5-MEGA Simp. Blue is super simpy. He will do all sorts of things to win m’lady’s favor and he’s not ashamed about it. Post-denial Black is also a MEGA simp, willing to spend obscene amounts of money and attention on his big favorite. (both would totally buy Reader’s bath water)<br/>Agree? Disagree? Skipped this to get to the smut faster? Lol</p><p>Reminder: we do have smut ahead. consensual but still a little fucked up, as is everything involving Mutt. Enjoy, my wonderful skele-sinners.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You pull into the skeletons' driveway to drop them off. Fang and Blue say their farewells and retreat inside. Mutt lingers, lounging thoughtfully in shotgun. He’s not ready to say goodbye. Maybe he could appeal to your nurturing side and get you to help him for a little longer…</p><p>“will mistress help clean me up? take responsibility for the mess she made?”</p><p>You look his paint-splattered body up and down. You’re considering it, aren’t you? “Depends. Are you going to be a good boy? You were naughty today, carrying your mistress around like a sack of potatoes.”</p><p>He scrunches his shoulders in, making himself smaller, submissive, “’ll be good,” he assures.</p><p>“Then I’ll clean my messy Mutt. But…no touching me,” you command, boldly grabbing his wrists, massaging the base of his ulna and radius. “And tell me if I do anything wrong,” you add, somewhat less boldly.</p><p>He nods agreement and allows you to pull him into the basement bathroom. You run a bath. Once it’s ready, you help him shrug his top off and ball it with the fresh paint inwards, so it doesn’t dirty the floor. You hesitate at his belt buckle, looking up at him, giving him time to stop you, but of course he doesn’t. You can do anything you want to him. <em>Almost</em> anything. You tug down his pants and boxers. You quirk your head curiously at his pelvis. No magic has formed there, not yet.</p><p>You don’t say anything, instead backing him up into the tub where you guide his shoulders down until he’s submerged a quarter way up his spine.</p><p>“You really are beautiful,” you sigh in admiration as you take the detachable shower head to spray warm water up and down his bones. He blushes blood-orange, folding his knees to his ribcage. That’s the second time you’ve called him beautiful and he’s still not sure how to take it. “I love your bones.” you continue, pouring soap into your palms. “They’re smooth and smell good. Your clothes always smell like drugs and hickory, but your bones…”</p><p>You lean into him to take a whiff, sudsing up his shoulders. You don’t finish, only humming in satisfaction as you breathe in his natural scent. He looks away. You really are spoiling him, aren’t you? Cleaning him, giving him compliments. Your touch is tender over his bruises and scars. You scrub stubborn paint that dried between his joints, You’re firm where you need to be, but soft on his sensitive spots, stroking his spine down to sacrum, sensually…</p><p>Your fingers curl around and <em>inside</em> his ischium. “ohh, mistress…” he groans. It should be illegal for you to tease him this much. His cock has been formed for a while now. If you gave it just a little attention, he’d come so quickly for you. Don’t you want that? To stroke him until you can lick his expelled magic off your fingers? “please,” he pleads, desperate for your touch. He wishes you’d let him touch you in return, at least. Prove that he can spoil you, too. </p><p>“You dirty, dirty dog,” you scold, still rimming his pubic arch. “You think I’m going to clean you up just for you to make a mess again? Naughty boys don’t get to cum.”</p><p>You edge him and edge and edge and…leave. Once he’s rinsed off and his bones have been patted dry, you go say goodbye and go home. After aggressively jerking himself off, he realizes something.</p><p>You’re too patient for your own good. You opened the pandora’s box of Mutt’s desires, but you were in no hurry to let him into <em>your</em> box. You’re too composed. In his make out sessions with you, he’s the one left wanting more after you break things off for the night. He could get you to blush, to moan, to pant in lustful exertion. But in the end, you’d still be the one to walk away, and too easily. Not like him, who’s left burning with need. Every. Single. Time. </p><p>It’s his disadvantage in that sense that he worked to bridge over the course of the next month. He started exploring. Including in situations that weren’t the most modest, he’d continued his pursuit of sensitive spots along your neck, back, shoulders, and legs. Sure, he’s had experience with lots of humans. He knows how to pleasure one. However, each human has their own quirks. Their own little weaknesses. And damned if he wasn’t going to find yours, to give him that edge.</p><p>And find them he did.</p><p>His sharp phalanges scratching the spine of your lower back would make you sigh in pleasure and lean back against him. A brushing of his golden fangs to shell of your ear gets him a delightful little gasp and a quickening of your pulse. A smoothing of his tongue over those sensitive spots on your skin is sends you squirming.</p><p>And there are…other…weaknesses. Ones that he was less happy to discover. At times, you’d space out. He’d see you staring into the shadows as if you were subconsciously suspecting something to emerge. If he’s not careful with his back scratches and nicks your skin, you’d flinch and stay tensed up for the better part of a half hour. When he’d pinned your wrists that night—god, he’d been furious, the thought of Black puppeting you, turning you against him—he could taste your fear. Like a deer in the headlights you’d been stunned into submission before you’d snapped him and yourself out of it. Your words had been the perfect chaser to wash that anger from his senses…</p><p>
  <em>We’re worried about you. </em>
</p><p>He knows m’lord worries. As he’d told you, it’s Black’s responsibility to keep Mutt alive. If he let his brother dust, he’d consider himself a failure, and m’lord detests failure. It’s not personal. It’s never personal, always practical, with m’lord. It’s makes him strong, but it also makes his worry feel empty in a way yours doesn’t.</p><p>In an abstract, inarticulate way Mutt knew you worried as well. When he’d run away, you’d tried to get ahold of him. You’d given chase. That high of knowing you’d valued him enough to pursue him could only be quashed by the revolting repercussions of his homecoming, of having your pursuit lead you into a trap that weaponized your ties to him.</p><p>
  <em>[I’m] worried about you.</em>
</p><p>He won’t let anything ruin <em>that</em> high.</p><p>Your expressions of concern for his safety… remembering it scratches a need in a primal part of him. You don’t want anything to happen to him. You’re sad when he’s hurt. When he dies, you’ll be so torn up about it that you can’t care about anyone else again. You’ll cry and cry and cry until your tears wet his dust into a paste that you’ll spread all over your body so that you can touch him one last time and—Fuck. That’s a lot. He could really go for a dog treat about now.</p><p>But <em>damn</em> if he doesn’t want that. For you to miss him when he’s gone. For you to miss him so much that it’s painful and that pain will never leave you because your worry will outlast him and stay in your soul forever. On the surface it might not be as big of a deal. Being interested in a person’s wellbeing isn’t as emotionally risky since people are less likely to die unexpectedly up here. But for him, the fact that you’re invested enough to care about his safety is significant. It’s unheard-of underground to take interest in someone’s safety without adopting proactive measures to ensure that safety with a promise of protection.</p><p>The promise that plays along so perfectly with his fantasies.</p><p><em>My Mutt</em>, you call him. <em>Yours</em>. Your filthy, spineless, dog that you’d love and pet and care for. Not because he serves any purpose. Not because he’s a guard dog, or because he brings you the morning paper. It should only be because you want this mangy Mutt to stick by your side. Because for some reason, you like having around and think he’s beautiful.</p><p>You’re just playing, he knows. In a sense, so is he. He’s already collared. And even if he weren’t…could he offer himself like that? If it weren’t essential to his survival, would he have been capable of such a thing? Feels like there’s not much of himself to give, sometimes.</p><p>He’s yet to figure out a way. A way to take everything from you while giving nothing of himself. There might be one part of himself to love to give to you, but he can’t imagine you’d take kindly to those other, hidden parts of him. There’s no way you’d want Mutt after seeing the real him. The ugly, uninhibited truth that the skeleton you’d kissed has killed dozens of your kind. Thought about killing you. And enjoyed it. M’lord has agreed to stay silent to you concerning Mutt’s murderous exploits so long as he doesn’t continue them, but…</p><p>Maybe he should stop trying to fool himself, fool you. He’s not a good boy. He’s selfish, and impatient, and he <em>needs</em> you. He’s more stable now, sure. Self-control built up from a month of scheduled sobriety and your incessant teasing. But he’s still him.</p><p>And when you walk up to him wearing this sinfully short black dress, cat tail curving off your ass and cute kitty ears…he’s already given up on being good for the night. He’s not sure what his favorite part is. Is it the thigh high socks silhouetting your lovely legs and sandwiching a tantalizing bit of bare thigh between the socks and skirt of the dress? The fact that the dress is sleeveless, and it will be absurdly simple to slide off you? The keyhole below your neckline, highlighting the skin between your cleavage and teasing at the shape of your ample breasts?</p><p>You wipe the drool away from his mandible and pull him into the fray of your old friend’s costume party. You’d gotten a dog sitter for the night. It’s one of his days off and you decided it’s appropriate to celebrate his ‘progress’ with a touch of revelry. Mutt intends to revel, alright. But not on the dance floor with these twenty-something bozos that smell like cheap mixed drinks. He only wants to revel and rut with you until your sock-covered legs can’t bare their own weight.</p><p>Mistress will listen to his pleas, won’t you? After he begs, will you let him do what he wants? He hopes he doesn’t have to resort to using those <em>other</em> weaknesses of yours. He accompanies you passively as you make social rounds, introducing him to people he won’t remember and saying hello to folks you haven’t seen in a while. Mutt can’t focus on any of it. His mind is locked in on finding an opportunity. When you pass the open door of an empty room, he promptly pulls you inside it, pressing you against the door.</p><p>“i can’t stand it,” he growls, phalanges pressing into the soft flesh of your bare thigh. They slowly slide upwards, bunching up the bottom of your dress, needing to clear his path to the wondrously warm walls that are just waiting to welcome him in. “you’ll let me take you, mistress, won’t you? please?”</p><p>You’re surprised, not expecting this sudden spike in ferocity and insistence. Your mind is reeling and he’s still waiting for an answer while he uses one of your weaknesses against you. A good weakness, not one of the others. He scratches at the inside of your thighs, kneading the flesh there. His teeth gently tug at your earlobe.  </p><p>“Mhm,” you whimper delicately. You’re not saying yes. Why? He wants you to say yes. He pushes further up, feeling your labia through the thin fabric of your panties. He strokes you until he senses the hard nub of your clit swell with arousal. He dedicates his other hand to it, circling it, squeezing it, massaging it through the fabric. Your breath is coming fast.</p><p>Finally, you whine, “Yes. Oh god Mutt…yes, take me!”</p><p>Mutt urgently tangles his tongue with yours while he claws open the fabric of your underwear, ripping it off and throwing it to the side. He thrusts in a finger, swirling it inside and testing your lubrication. When he pulls it out, it’s sufficiently coated in your juices and he pulls away from your mouth to taste it. You watch him savor your taste, shivering with your absence of panties allowing a draft of the chill air-conditioned air to breeze against your sensitive lower lips.</p><p>Now that he knows you’re ready, there’s nothing stopping him. Hell, he doesn’t think anything <em>could</em> stop him save m’lord coming in and biting his head off. Even then, he thinks his headless body would still mindlessly rut into you after so long of being deprived.</p><p>He turns you around, your hands and cheek pressed against the door before he shoves your dress over your hips, sparing a short moment to admire the heavenly view as he lines himself up. He adores how you look, but he fucking <em>loves</em> how you feel as he prods past your petals and inward to the muscular tunnel of your pussy. Your inhale is shaky and stuttering, you’re opening and closing your mouth in a soundless moan as he sheathes himself. He doesn’t think he’d be able to move this slowly, if it hadn’t been for the tempting torment he’d endured this past month. Hm. Maybe he made progress, after all. But his pace doesn’t stay slow for long. The sensation of you around him is so much better than his imagination and his rough, bony hand. He picks up the pace, panting over your neck and slicing the sides of your dress with his firm grip on your waist.</p><p>“do i feel good, mistress? will y’make music for me?”</p><p>“They’ll hear us,” you whisper. Mutt is gratified by the way your words are given a vibrato from his thrusts. You’re obviously upset at the prospect of those random humans hearing your lewd utterances. He doesn’t want you quieting yourself on their account.</p><p>Not wanting to exit your wet warmth anytime soon, he ceases his thrusting and grumbles, “hold on.” He carefully teleports you both onto his bed with his cock still buried betwixt your thighs. His room is dark, but he can still see you clearly, fingers sliding in the sheets to find purchase. You slide off his magic slightly as you adjust your knees on the mattress.</p><p>“That shortcut thing was easier, with you inside me. Less jarring,” you state with curiosity.</p><p>Hm. Interesting. But if you’re still talking in complete sentences, he needs to do better. He hurls his pelvis into your hips, hilting himself entirely. You moan, uninhibited. Mutt realizes privacy was a good idea, a very good idea, if you sound like that. Some dumb frat boy would probably cream his pants if he heard you. Mutt’s glad he’s the only audience to you the sensual song of your gasps and moans as he pulls out to pound back into you from behind.</p><p>He pulls down the top of your dress, freeing your breasts and pawing at them frenziedly as they bounce with his erratic thrusts. You arch your back to lift your ass closer to him and to see you take his cock so well has him seeing stars, exploding hot magic against your cervix.</p><p><em>Ahh</em>…</p><p>For a moment he experiences true paradise. Well-worth the wait. His upper body collapses over yours, side of his skull resting on your back while he recovers himself.</p><p>“Whatever happened to ladies first?” you ask breathlessly, tone teasing but not without disappointment.</p><p>You have no idea what you’re in for. Just because Mutt’s <em>finished</em> doesn’t mean he’s done. He’s not anywhere near done. He’s never been a gentleman but hell if he’s not a good lay, especially for his mistress.</p><p>“how ‘bout instead, ladies come second. ‘n third. ‘n fourth. ‘n fifth…” he trails off, teeth grazing your jaw and neck.</p><p>“That’s…That sounds alright to me,” you manage to get out, flustered. Very gently, he lifts you by your waist, rotating you around his still very hard shaft. He lays you on your back where you can relax, and he can watch your face while he pleasures you again and again. Starting at your collar bone, he leaves little love bites, moving southward. He pauses at your nipples to lavish them with his tongue. Unfortunately, it’d be an impossibility to suckle them, with his lack of lips. That doesn’t stop him from giving them proper attention. Forceful laps accompanied with kneads to the base of your breasts seem to be doing the trick. You mewl, bucking your hips. He groans and lapses in his ministrations, unable to focus when you move like that. One hand holds your hip, keeping you steady against the mattress, the other sliding down to make circles over your clit.</p><p>“It’s getting bigger?” you ask, helplessly overwhelmed by the way the base of his magic is swelling to bulge against your walls while he works you from outside.</p><p>“’s my knot.” He’s all too aware of the way its expanding inside you. “it’ll be there a while.”</p><p>It’s a recent development. Its presence would’ve surprised him if it hadn’t started showing up when he jacks off while thinking about you. It’s like his magic wants to tie you to him for as long as possible. Trap you. Keep you speared on his cock for long enough for his magic to settle inside your womb. Monsters don’t reproduce that way but fuck if it doesn’t get him off thinking about it. A part of him penetrating such a deep, unseen part of you. He’s just cum, yet he’s still frantically horny. He experimentally juts his hipbones forward, testing how much give his knot has.</p><p>You yelp as you move with it, too swollen to allow for the movement. Whether the noise was from pain or pleasure, you’re too far gone for him to tell, biting your lip and tensely grabbing the pillow behind you. It’s perfect. You’re too beautiful like this. Lost in lust, stuck on him, not going anywhere until either his magic or arousal fades enough to allow you to slide off. Not that you’ll want to go anywhere. Mutt will make sure of that, drowning you in ecstasy, unable to think about anything but him. He increases the speed of his phalanges’ motions on the bud of your clit.</p><p>“Mutt, please,” you whisper urgently, “I’m <em>so</em> <em>close</em>…”</p><p>He can tell. You’re tensing, muscles contracting in anticipation of that sweet release…He’s anticipating it, too. There’s nothing like the feeling of those warm walls spasming around him. It’s a feeling his hand can’t replicate. He has to really be with you, and do a good job, in order to experience that indescribable, blissful—</p><p>“Fuck!” you cry, waves of spasms crashing over you. He grinds his teeth, trying to concentrate on rubbing you through your orgasm with your walls milking his shaft. He slackens, but doesn’t stop, his motions on your clit. He allows some time for the oversensitive nerve bundle to recover before he resumes his skillful circling and stroking. Your second orgasm arrives swiftly. Whether it’s because his knot is applying pressure to the branches of your clitoris around your walls, or the fact that your first orgasm has spiked your sensitivity, he’s not sure. But he is sure he loves the look on your face and your notably decreasing verbosity as you cry, “God, that’s good. <em>You’re</em> so good, you’re—Mhm!” you cum again, squeezing your eyes closed and blinking them open blearily when your peak has passed. “Good…good boy.”</p><p>“tha’s what i like to hear,” he coos. You stroke the back of his head, coming undone as he doesn’t let you recover this time, only increasing the speed of his fingers past what might be humanly possible. Your brows furrow as you descend into a fretful kind of pleasure, a burning ache and an itch that needs to be scratched faster, and faster. Your fingernails dig into his skull in frustration. He alternates between a delicate, barely there touch, and an obscenely fast, almost vibrating, stimulation. Your hips are gyrating wildly to get his phalanges just where you want them, and your moans are mixed with hisses each time he pulls his pace before you peak. You clench your walls around him, as if punishing him for edging you so relentlessly. Your grip around him is deliciously painful and when you cum. He finds himself falling with you, the sporadic convulsions coaxing more magic to spill into you.</p><p>That feeling, as you cum together…it’s better than anything Mutt’s ever felt. He feels impossibly close to you, a level of intimacy he’d never experienced. He wishes it could last forever, being delightfully intertwined like this, but shit, he’s exhausted. His magic levels are markedly depleted from how much he’s lost inside you. His magic dissipates and leaves you free to remove yourself from him. You don’t run away though, only lowering a hand to curiously poke at the magic pooling between your petals now that his knot isn’t there to lock it inside. You collect some on your finger and lift it to your tongue, sucking it clean. Mutt is glad he willed his fluids not to disappear for long enough for you to paint him such a lovely picture.</p><p>You remove the remnants of your dress and leave to track down pajamas. You don’t leave for long, and when you come back you wrap him in your embrace. He passes out in complete contentment.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I had to google ‘what does it feel like to have a woman orgasm around your cock’ for this so…<br/>1. I hope you’re happy. 2. never say that I don’t make sacrifices for you, ok? Just kidding. I’d have looked it up anyway, I’m curious. Apparently, it feels pretty dope.</p><p>On a more serious note, I think self-destructive people can share some similarities with those with suicidal ideation, such as romanticizing how people will react to your death. In case it isn’t obvious DON’T do this. It’s natural to want your loved ones to mourn you, but unhealthy to fixate on it.<br/>Next time I write a smut chapter, I think I’ll write two versions. Version one I’ll try to make respectable and decent. The second, I’m going to call genitalia the most ridiculous shit I can come up with. “Special zone” “womanly tunnel” and “magic sceptre”, to name a few. I used to judge smut writers for including shit like that but now I know it just flows out sometimes. Maybe it’s our subconsciouses trying to balance out the horniness with humor.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Chapter 21</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You admire Mutt’s peacefully sleeping face. It’s the morning after your spontaneous sex session and he’s still snoozing soundly. His armbones encircle your waist, cuddling you unconsciously. A rush of fondness overwhelms you. It’s normal for you to feel closer to someone after having sex with them. The levels of oxytocin increase post-coitally, facilitating feelings of trust and affection. This feels…deeper, than what you’re accustomed to. More intense. Maybe it’s because you came so many times last night. Does the effect stack? Did your oxytocin go up <em>every time</em> he effortlessly brought you to orgasm? Whatever the cause, you’re feeling closer to Mutt than ever. Unable to resist the urge to touch him even more, you reach out, cradling his cheekbone in your palm and stroking the bone under his sockets.</p><p>The contact causes him to stir and blink awake. He pulls you back into the pillow, gifting you a groggy grin. It’s rare to see the aloof Mutt truly smile. The joy you experience at seeing his expression of happiness swells your heart. If you stayed in bed with him like this all day, all week even, you’d have no complaints. The fondness seeps into your somnolent voice as you ask, “Good morning, lazybones. How’d you sleep?”</p><p>As Mutt’s fangs part to answer, something washes over him. Like you’d dumped a bucket of ice water over his skull. His eyelights shrink in shock. The sleepy smile you’d been treasuring vanishes. Mutt lurches upright, bringing your torso with him, holding you at arm’s length. The way he is looking at you…you’ve never seen him show this much emotion before. Unbridled panic. His terror is contagious and your heart beats rapidly.</p><p>“Mutt? What’s wrong?”</p><p>He doesn’t answer. Just…stares. Stares at that spot in your chest. Wordlessly, he coaxes your soul from your body. You worry that there’s something wrong with your soul, but it looks fine. Better than it did the first time you saw it. There is no chaotically sparking aura or sputtering shadows. Only a bright, healthy cyan and…oh. You hadn’t noticed it before, but there’s a subtle sliver of orange bisecting it. It clashes prettily with your hue of patience. You watch carefully for Mutt to make any move to touch it, but he doesn’t.</p><p>“no. no, it’s not…it’s not possible.”</p><p>“What’s not possible? Please, talk to me. You’re scaring me.” Unknown to your human magic-blindness, your soul lets out a beacon of distress, broadcasting your fear. Mutt flinches, his phalanges releasing you to protectively cage your soul.</p><p>“<em>fuck</em>. don’t do that. they’ll hear you.” Not at all comforted by that, it continues. Dread oozes off you in waves. It only ceases as Mutt finally looks away from your soul, meeting your worried gaze. Behind the horror in his expression, his eyes hold something like…awe. Tentative reverence. A deep breath. Then another. You think he might be beginning to calm down.</p><p>That is, until a disembodied voice demands, “what the hell is going on here?” You startle, swirling towards a skeleton monster you’ve never met. A string of familiarity reverberates within you as you stare at him in astonishment. He has an uncanny resemblance to the monster you’d just slept with. His teeth are less golden, less sharp, and his choice of clothing is a plain orange hoodie. He appears on edge, his fingers pulling at his sleeves, his nervousness undermining the authority in his demand.</p><p>“That’s what I’d like to know,” you mutter, confusion mounting by the minute. “And who are you?”</p><p>“he’s jus’ leavin’,” Mutt snarls, fright twisting into fury directed with scorching intensity at the intruder. “if he knows wha’s good for ‘im.” His anger tightens his hold around your soul. You worry if that grip gets any closer, he’ll touch it. You’re not sure you’re ready for that. Especially not fully knowing what it means. And in front of a stranger, no less.  </p><p>“name’s stretch. and—and i won’t be leaving, not until you let go of the human’s soul.” At Stretch’s words, Mutt seems to realize how close he is to smothering the dual-toned heart in his grip. He relinquishes it, stowing it back into your chest.</p><p>“there.” he growls, standing from the bed to position himself between you and Stretch. “now get the fuck out. this ‘s none o’ your concern.”</p><p>“really, asshole? cuz something,” Stretch taps the center of his ribcage, “tells me this <em>is</em> my concern.”</p><p>“last chance.” The atmosphere thickens until the air you’re breathing tingles harshly in your lungs. Blood-orange magic flares from Mutt’s eyelight. You can’t see his expression, but his voice is grave. “get. out.”</p><p>Stretch hesitates. His glower oscillates between Mutt and you, searching, processing. His fists clench. Resignation sinks into his bones and he backs down. He vanishes as suddenly as he appeared.</p><p>The malice drains from Mutt’s countenance, leaving him to pace anxiously across his bedroom, murmuring frantically to himself, “hafta fix this. hafta get m’lord. m’lord will fix this.”</p><p>“Are you going to explain yourself? Or anything that just happened? Please?” you plead with him, climbing off the bed to cling to the fabric of his tank top.</p><p>Once Mutt’s attention returns to you, you’re pulled against him. His skull collides against your lips, kissing you with a desperation that does little to calm your worried heart. You’re pushed into the bed, Mutt climbing on top of you to deepen the kiss. His phalanges press against your chest, digging into the spot above your soul, not breaking the skin but giving enough force to leave the impression that he’s restraining himself from pulling it out of you again. His tongue presses past your lips, leaving the taste of citrus in your mouth and a thin strand of saliva as he pulls away panting. “stay.” He commands, before his weight disappears from above you.</p><p>Flustered and frustrated, you sit up, looking around. Really? He left, just like that? Normally you’d assume his disappearance is due to last night. He’s not used to sticking around the morning after and you’d understand if he needed space. However…this seems more complicated than that. He’d been very interested in your soul, in a way that didn’t seem sexual. Mutt had mentioned m’lord. Maybe…you stand up, peeking out the door of his bedroom. He’d told you to stay, and the sweater you’d swiped from Mutt’s bedroom is showing more of your legs than what you’d like for a walk of shame around the house. But there isn’t enough patience in the world to keep you still after all that.</p><p>You knock on the door of Black’s bedroom. No response. Bracing yourself against Black’s belligerence if he catches you invading his space without his permission, you open the door. No one’s inside. You’re equal parts relieved and disappointed. He must be at work. Listlessly, you retreat from Black’s room and sink into the basement couch. Should you call Mutt? No, you doubted that he’d have more answers on the phone than he’d had in person a minute ago.</p><p>A tug lures your lost soul. Not one to deny your intuition, you follow the urge to go upstairs. The kitchen is empty, but bright orange stands out to you from passed the glass doors.</p><p>Not knowing what you want from him, or what to say, you approach Stretch on the balcony. Your arms cross protectively against the brisk morning air. He’s smoking a cigarette. The pile of ashy butts on the railing tells you it’s one of many, this morning. Shocked at the sight of you, he drops one, shamefully retrieving it from the ground before turning to you with a tentative concern. It’s strange to see a skull similar to Mutt’s in structure, yet so expressive. Almost youthfully so.</p><p>Not wanting to disconcert him further, you don’t come any closer, leaning against the door. “Hey.”</p><p>“…h-hey.”</p>
<hr/><p>Black sneers at his brother’s pacing from behind his desk. “What Is It, Mutt? It’d Better Be Damn Important To Interrupt My Work.”</p><p>“i fucked up."</p><p>“I Assumed.”</p><p>“ i—we—” Mutt shakes his skull at his lack of words. He doesn’t have time to trip up right now. Every second he delays is another spent away from you. “we bonded. accidentally.”</p><p>“You And Y/N? Bonded? <em>Accidentally</em>?” A nod. “How Does One Accidentally—No, What I Should Ask Is, Are You Sure?”</p><p>“bloody sure. saw my magic in ‘er soul myself. an’…i felt her. can still feel her.”</p><p>Disbelief shades Black’s tone, “Not Only Did You Find A Compatible Soul. A Difficult Task In Of Itself. Not Only This, But A Compatible <em>Human</em> Soul. Highly Unlikely. But, You Were Presumably Ignorant To Your Soul Compatibility And Y/N Happened To Be Receptive When You, Er…” Black colors, coughing into his hand, “Ahem, ‘<em>Exposed’</em> Her To Your Magic.”</p><p>Mutt whines. “please help.”</p><p>Black goes rigid at his brother’s request. He could count on one hand the times Mutt had directly asked for his assistance. Though his mind is racing from the implications of the bonding, it feels good and natural for his brother to rely on him again. He’ll do his damnedest to make sure Mutt won’t regret it. “Very Well. Let’s Think This Through. We’re Not Underground Anymore. The Bond Is Unlikely To Put A Target On Y/N’s Back. Monsters In This Universe Are Too Soft To Go After A Rival’s Bonded In Retribution. Except…You Haven’t Been Keeping Your Hands Clean, Have You?”</p><p>“…” Mutt’s gaze lowers in chagrin.</p><p>“The Details Aren’t Important. Have You Made Any Enemies?”</p><p>“don’t think so.”</p><p>“Good.” Black leans back in his seat. “Then You Can Stop Fretting So Much.”</p><p>“There Are No Outside Threats To Y/N’s Security. Not That We’d Have Trouble Handling Them, Regardless. No, What You Need To Be Worried About Is This.” Black rises from his chair, hands splayed over his desk. “You Are In A Universe With Three Alternate Versions Of Yourself. Three And A Half, Technically. Their Souls Are Identical To Yours. At This Moment, Your Bonded’s Soul Is Seeking You, Sending Out A Unique Frequency Of Loving Intentions Directed At Your Soul, But Being Received By Many. We Have No Way Of Knowing How They Will React At This Signal. Or At The Revelation That Y/N Is Compatible With Their Souls.”</p><p>“i know,” Mutt says through gritted fangs. “stretch noticed. he heard ‘er soul’s distress call. tried to play prick ‘n shinin armor and take ‘er away from me.”</p><p>“What Happened To Y/N To Cause Her Soul To Fear?” Mutt grumbles guiltily and Black shakes his head at his brother’s folly. “Unimportant. There Are Only Three Things You Should Be Considering Right Now. One, Who Is The Largest Threat To Y/N? Don’t Let Your Dislike Of The Ashtray Cloud Your Judgement. Did You Forget To Consider How Classic Might React To All This? The Half-Feral Blaster? The <em>Human-Eater</em>?”</p><p>Mutt’s soul sinks. Of course. How could he have forgotten? He’s left you alone and vulnerable with a monster who was known in his underground as The Butcher. Axe’s LV isn’t as high as his own, but it’s far higher than he’d like to have in your company. And Vanilla…he’d talk pretty things about peace and harmony between species, but Mutt knew that sick fuck had a taste for splitting human souls. At least he and Axe own up to their sadistic streak. Freaks like Vanilla try to contain it and only make it grow and fester.</p><p>Self-loathing surfaces in his soul as he realizes: all his alternates are a threat to you, because <em>he’s</em> a threat to you. The only one of them with a fleck of good nature is Fang, and that’s only because he’s half-Papyrus. No matter what universe his soul is from…an inescapable nihilism permeates all his iterations because it’s…a part of him. At the core of his being.</p><p>The horror is overwhelming and the one thing holding him back from shortcutting to your side is the reassurance from the bond that you’re alive, and safe. Black allows him to mull over his words before making his next point.</p><p>“The Second Point Of Concern: Are You Going To Maintain The Bond? Or Let It Disintegrate? Keep In Mind, It Would Take Approximately Three Months Of Keeping Your Magic Away From Your Bonded For This To Work. Be Realistic About Your Self Control.”</p><p>“dunno…” Unnerved as he is about this development, Mutt isn’t immune to the alluring contentment brought about from the bond. It bolsters already present feelings of connection and can bring about its own pleasures. It’s not without drawbacks, however. Maintaining the bond is a commitment. As laid-back as he usual is with responsibility, can he really reap the benefits of this bond without pledging himself to you? Does he…<em>want</em> to get serious with you? He can’t trust his decisions right now. There’re too many emotions pulling his soul in all different directions.</p><p>“Think About It Carefully. If You Make The Wrong Choice I Can’t Just Sweep In And Clean Up Your Messes. Now, The Last Topic You Should Be Thinking About: What, Exactly, Are You Going To Tell Her?”</p>
<hr/><p>Stretch openly gawks at you. Y/N, the cause of the veritable hurricane in his mental state since last night. Not that he’d known it was your fault at the time. He’d barely been aware of your existence. Blue had been spending time with you, so he’d run a background check. Once it’d come up clear, you’d disappeared into the back of his mind.</p><p>He’d been practicing guitar in his room last night when a tsunami of devotion crashes into him out of nowhere. Then, a yearning. What he was yearning for, Stretch had no idea. His soul just told him he <em>needed</em> something. Needed what? Needed who? This incredible motivation to act with no clue what actions to take... it was bewildering. He’d run himself ragged trying to figure out what was wrong with him. Loneliness? Psychotic break? Soul sickness? It had quietened since the initial shock but persisted.</p><p>Then, after hours of fruitless undernet research, an alarm broke through the chaos. A distress signal. He didn’t hesitate. He instinctively shortcutted towards its source. To think, it’d lead him to Mutt’s bedroom. To a scene that made him think he <em>really</em> should have knocked first.</p><p>Once he saw your soul it’d clicked. Mutt had bonded with you, and Stretch was collateral. Fitting, that bastard had been the cause of his turmoil. Mutt had been a continual thorn in his side since he’d shown up. Messing with Stretch’s brother, stealing his stuff, and overall being an asshole to him for no reason. Well, not exactly for no reason. They rubbed each other the wrong way since the moment they’d first been introduced.</p><p>Maybe if Stretch were a worse monster, he’d have reciprocated the petty feud. Instead, he did his best to ignore it. What else could he do when his rival has all his abilities with the advantage of layers upon layers of LV?</p><p>But Mutt dragging him into a soul bond out of nowhere? This could not be ignored. His alternate wasn’t getting away with it this time.</p><p>As Stretch witnessed Mutt interact with you, he displayed a sort of vulnerability that Stretch had previously thought him incapable of. The idea that this was done to spite Stretch seemed less and less likely. Mutt was just as rattled as he was. And as screwed up as the situation was, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t get satisfaction from finally being able to get under the normally nonchalant skeleton’s skin. Yet that satisfaction disintegrated quickly once he’d been run off to chain smoke on the balcony, completely ignorant as to what happens next.</p><p>Now that you were alone with him, it feels as if he’s found the eye of the storm. He can sense your uneasiness clashing with comfort at being in his presence. It’s mind-boggling. You’re practically strangers. Strangers that, with your soul holding his magical signature, have half their own language of intimate soul-to-soul communication. What good are words? What could he say to you to make this any less surreal? You take the burden from him and speak first.</p><p>“Stretch, right? You must be Blueberry’s younger brother. He’s spoken highly of you.” He’d nearly forgotten about his brother in all this. What will he tell Blue? Should he tell Blue? Stretch isn’t sure how he’d react to news of this caliber.</p><p>“yeah. y-yours is…y/n? well he’s not the sort of skeleton to talk low, not about anyone.”</p><p>“Yup. I noticed that. It’s one of the things I like about him.” your lips curl upwards and Stretch feels the uptick of affection in your soul as you dwell on his brother. It swiftly darkens into shame and uncertainty. Your head lowers to look at your shoes. “I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances. I don’t know what’s gotten into Mutt, but I’m sorry about the way he treated you earlier.”</p><p><em>he’s treated me a lot worse than what you saw, honey.</em> You must know that. Know what kind of a monster Mutt is. If you don’t, is it his responsibility to tell you? Indecision forces him to swallow his vitriol and let out a strained, “yeah.”</p><p>There’s a lull in the conversation and Stretch self-flagellates for his awkwardness. Here you are, struggling in the dark, unconsciously approaching him for answers he’s too cowardly to give you. No, he can’t just leave you oblivious to the precarious position you’ve ended up in. He must be the better monster. Try to explain. It’s the right thing to do.</p><p>“What is—”</p><p>“do you—”</p><p>The two of you begin talking at once, stumbling over each other’s words. Stretch’s phalanges scratch at the vertebrae on the back of his neck.</p><p>“Oh, sorry,” you chuckle in embarrassment, “You go ahead.”</p><p>“right. do you, uh,” he wets his teeth with his tongue, “do you feel any different today? experienced any strange or unusually strong emotions out of nowhere?”</p><p>“Yes, in fact, I have.” your face scrunches in thoughtful concern. “Have you as well?”</p><p>“yeah. i feel—” he pauses and starts again, picking and choosing his words, “i think—it’s because we have a connection.”</p><p>You beam, gazing up at him with a spark of admiration.</p><p><em>wait, what?</em> That’s not how you’re supposed to react to being told you’re partially bonded to a stranger. He fucked this up, didn’t he?</p><p>“Wow, Stretch. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve felt an inexplicable connection with someone I’ve just met. It’s always memorable, but I’ve never had the pleasure of knowing that feeling was mutual! This is so cool! Thank you for having the courage to tell me. Do you think we could be friends from a past life?”</p><p>His sockets widen. His explanation…it came out sounding more like a pick-up line, didn’t it? Stretch is lucky you didn’t take it the wrong way. Or at least, a worse wrong way.</p><p>“c-could be…”</p><p>“We could ask a fortune teller about it. I don’t really believe in that stuff, but it’d be hilarious to see what they could come up with. Like, I was a general and you’re the bones of one of my fallen soldiers. Or you were a nun and I was a—another nun?” you short yourself when you realize he’s distraught. “Am I being offensive? I didn’t think about how reincarnation might be culturally odd for skeleton monsters…”</p><p>“no, um, not at all. my bro always says i’m the reincarnation of a bear monster, with how much honey i drink.”</p><p>“Honey is delicious. That’s it, we must’ve both been bees in a past life. Working in the same hive.”</p><p>“What’s All This Buzz About?” Blue joins you on the porch, just returning from his morning jog. “Two Of My Favorite People In The Same Place? And My Brother Is Up Early? Pinch Me I Must Be Dreaming!”</p><p>“You’re not dreaming, Blue.” You humor his request and lightly pinch his cheekbone, winking at him.</p><p>He lets out an ‘Eep!’ and slaps a hand over the spot you’d touched, eyes darting down to take in the spans of your legs that Mutt’s sweater fail to cover. <em>the hell?</em> Blue never steals sordid looks like that. Stretch’s big bro is beyond that kind of stuff. He must be concerned that you’d get cold out on this balcony, with all that exposed skin. Now that Stretch is thinking about it, he’s concerned, too. You radiate a mite of discomfort. Though, that may be carrying over from the morning’s strange events. Regardless, Stretch gets the urge to soothe it.</p><p>“do you want—I could get you, uh, a—clothes, or something?” he stammers, but you seem to get the idea, regarding your legs then looking away, covering your mouth with a hand and using the other to tug down the sweater’s hem.</p><p>“That…would be appreciated, if you don’t mind,” you speak softly, blushing behind your palm.</p><p>He nods, extinguishing the butt of his cigarette and leads you inside. Blue calls out as you start to follow through the sliding door. His excitement is plain in the eagerness in his voice and the way his upper body leans towards you, “Now That You And Stretch Know Each Other, We Can All Celebrate Together With A Super Special Friends Night!!” Stretch finds himself nervously hopeful at the concept. Maybe it’d be easier to be with you if his bro’s around, too. Wait, why does he want to be with you? Trepidation arises that hearing your soul has affected him this much already.</p><p>“We’ll plan it when I get back, okay? I’ll see you in five,” you ensure, leaving Blueberry in the kitchen while you climb the stairs to Stretch’s room. He ascends first, both to show you the way and to avoid staring at your upper thighs from behind. He’s not a pervert like <em>some</em> skeletons.</p><p>He’s embarrassed that the state of his room might not be up to your standards. There’re dishes from last week taking up space on his desk and empty honey bottles cluttered around his bed. Fortunately, yesterday was laundry day and his carpets are clean of shed, sullied garments. You’re able to walk around without kicking trash out of the way. That’s more than could be said for Sans’ room.</p><p>You wait expectantly in the center of his space. Stretch starts, “so…do you want some sweatpants, or…something?”</p><p>“Yeah,” you spy into his closet, spotting a pair that would work. “Mind if I borrow these?”</p><p>“not at all.” He watches you snag the simple black sweats off the hangers and start pulling them around your ankles. He reflexively turns around to give you privacy while dressing.</p><p>He’s quickly made to regret showing his back as Mutt pops into existence behind him. He whirls around to see the gold-toothed monster is tugging at the pants you’d been pulling on, tutting, “don’t need these, darlin’. not from him.” Mutt extricates you from the sweats before you can finish getting them over your hips. You’re yanked out of them and into his lecherous arms.  </p><p>Indignation ignites within Stretch towards his fell alternate. Invading another’s room is against the rules! Then again, he’d violated that same rule less than an hour ago. That was different, though. Your soul had been in distress. Mutt doesn’t have that excuse as you’d been just fine in Stretch’s room! In fact, you seem even more distressed now that Mutt is here. His unstable emotions must be influencing you and tearing you into his tumult.  </p><p>You struggle to put words together in time, whinging, “Mutt, why…what even—?”  </p><p>“doesn’t matter. we’re goin’ home.” Mutt settles you against his chest and uses his free hand to flip Stretch the bird before shortcutting away with you.</p><p>
  <em>the nerve of that bastard.</em>
</p><p>Stretch falls back to slump onto his bed, armbone draped over his sockets. He feels helpless, seeing you get swiped away like that. Something should be done about this mess. What though, he has no idea. Maybe his big bro would know what to do. Stretch relaxes marginally, letting his arm slide off his skull and sitting up. He stands to go find his brother. Blue will be able to push him in the right direction.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here we go lads. Buckle up for some soul bond shenanigans. </p><p>Ah, self-righteousness thy name is Stretch. How much of that self-righteousness is warranted though, when the monster you think you’re better than literally kills people and lies about it?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Chapter 22</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Guys...666 kudos? :') Thank you so much!!! I love all of you and am so glad I'm not the only one who likes this angsty, horny skeleton stuff.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Earlier...</em>
</p><p>Sans stiffly sits up. He stretches his arms out in front of him, getting an eyeful of the months’ worth of mess layering his carpet. Weeks and weeks of obligations brushed to the side, left to build up. He groans and drops his skull into his hands. It shouldn’t bother him. He chose this. There’s no point wasting energy to clean, everyone already expects him to be a slob. When he has energy, he must use it carefully. He keeps up outside appearances. Jokes around a bit, sends a text to his old friends. He doesn’t have that brand of motivation today.</p><p>Today…things are different. He’d been woken early by a vivid nightmare. He can’t recall what it’d been about, only remembering that spike of terror that’s shocked him out of the malaise he’s accustomed to. It’s been a long time since he’d felt fear so acutely. There’s not much he’s afraid of anymore. Chara is gone. The kid swore not to RESET. That didn’t help as much as Sans would’ve liked it to, though. He’s not stuck in a time loop, like he used to be, but he may as well be. The days all blend together. Nothing pulls him. The surface provides plentiful distractions, but it didn’t take long to realize that wasn’t enough.</p><p>He’d turned to the promise of past mysteries. He doesn’t know what he’d been thinking when he’d worked on that damned machine. The skill gap between he and Gaster is abysmal. There’s no way he could have filled the shoes of the ingenious former royal scientist. Sans just wanted to be relevant again, to have a purpose. A breakthrough with the machine could’ve changed everything…and he feels like he would’ve needed everything to change to have a chance at happiness.</p><p>How had the universe answered his desperate attempts at controlling it? By making him redundant. As if he wasn’t worthless enough before…now there’s an assortment of other hims to replace his already dwindling utility. To make it worse, they’re <em>better</em> than he is. They aren’t struggling to get out of bed after sleeping all day. They aren’t leeching off their brothers’ earnings. They aren’t incapable of lasting, consistent connections due to their withering emotional capabilities.</p><p>Horror Sans is stronger than him. Not magically (else he would’ve been dust a while ago) but mentally. Axe has seen much worse than Sans and come out the other side. He’s gifted with the grit of a survivor. He provides for his Papyrus and works tirelessly for what he wants. Sans was going to monitor him, make sure that what the half-unhinged monster wants wasn’t harmful to the humans around, but…he can’t find it in him to care.</p><p>Swap Papyrus is happier than him. He’s kept from the brink of bitterness by his naïve do-gooder attitude. He’s warmed by Blueberry’s love. He’s awkward and sheltered, still clinging to the idea that he can change things, that anything he does matters. Sans envies that.</p><p>Fellswap Papyrus is tougher than him. Where Sans is sinking, Mutt is floating, seemingly unconcerned by the lack of meaning and control in his life. Mutt drifts in the bleak emptiness like it’s a lazy river. Sans enjoys thinking he’s a better person than the violent, vindictive fell but in actuality…he’s watched Mutt’s EXP steadily climb up with jealousy. Not because he wants LV itself (that savage, drawn-out death isn’t appealing to him) but because he wants Mutt’s ability to cause harm without getting broken up by it. He doesn’t want all this guilt. Not while he doesn’t have the energy to do anything with it.</p><p> </p><p>Sans rubs the heel of his metacarpals against his aching temple. He wonders if he should have been the younger brother like most of his alternates. Is that why he’s so <em>wrong</em>? He should never have been responsible for anything, or anyone. Especially not someone who’s as impressionable as Papyrus.</p><p>Papyrus… even his brother doesn’t need him anymore. The swaps are better siblings to him than Sans is capable of being. They haven’t seen what he has. They’re not ruined by it. He hates having to share his world with them. He loathes being forced to face his insecurities every time he sees them. When he can’t avoid encountering them, he doesn’t truly look at them. He sees right through them as if they’re skeletal animatronics moving along on predestined, predictable tracks.</p><p>He’ll go through the motions with them this morning. The nightmare’s fear lingers with discontent; he won’t be able to get rest until the feelings fade and leave him hollow again. Besides, there’s a bizarre bubbling up of the urge to get out of bed. He doesn’t usually like to leave his room. It’s his prison and his paradise. He’s protected from the inconveniences and annoyances of other people, but he’s pent-up with the worst company he could hope for—himself. He stands from his slumped seat on the side of his mattress.</p><p>He approaches the doorway, slippered feet shoving a path through the trash, until he hears footsteps coming up the stairs. Not wanting to interact, he waits until they pass before stealthily opening his door. He sneaks his head out. Stretch is strolling into his room, followed by a half-dressed human.</p><p>The brief glimpse of you is enough to have his soul stuck in his throat. When you’re hidden by your retreat into the other skeleton’s room, Sans can’t help but feel robbed. He’d scarcely gotten to see you and he wasn’t done looking. You’re nice to look at, for a human, and he’s uncommonly curious about your appearance. There’s a narrowly audible conversation in Stretch’s room and Sans loiters in the living room, listening in.</p><p>“so…do you want some sweatpants, or…something?” Stretch says, eloquent as always. He’s trying to get you fully clothed. But why were you missing pants in the first place? Must be you’re one of Mutt’s humans, hanging around after a one-night stand. The thought leaves a sour twist to his expression. </p><p>“Yeah,” you reply, “Mind if I borrow these?” Your words are unremarkable, but your voice is <em>musical</em>. His eyelights expand and he unconsciously leans closer to the sounds’ source.  The next time he hears you, you’re distressed and confused. Sans is hit with sharp sympathy as you protest, “Mutt, why…what even—?”</p><p>You’re cut off by Mutt’s declaration, “doesn’t matter. we’re goin’ home.”</p><p>Sans hears a shortcut, followed by the squeak of a mattress being squashed under the weight of tall skeleton dramatically collapsing onto it. He retrieves a book from the shelf, relocating to an armchair and pretending to read until someone leaves the room. He realizes, as he blankly scans the same page over and over again, that he isn’t bored. He’s engaged. Not fully invested, but inexplicably entertained.</p><p>It doesn’t take long for the ashtray to wander out. He heads towards the stairs but slows when he spots Sans. “classic,” stretch grumbles, choosing to vent his obvious frustration to the monster who may be able to do something about it, “mutt’s being an ass again.”</p><p>“what else is new?” he responds automatically. His mind is occupied with the human, checking the open door, and noting your absence from Stretch’s bedroom.</p><p>Stretch doesn’t match Sans’ casualness, instead doubling down on his dissatisfaction. “he’s breaking the rules. he teleported into my room without my permission and, and—” he pauses his snitching, suddenly bashful. After a moment of staring to the side, his coyness dims to a dark deliberation, “and…his LV is going up. you’ve seen it too, right? it’s higher than it was when he arrived here.”</p><p>Yes, he’s noticed. It’s not his problem if a few humans die, so long as it doesn’t come back to him. The rules he enforces are meant to keep the house in one piece and people off his back, not to protect random, worthless humans. Sans shrugs, corners of his grin twitching upwards marginally.</p><p>Stretch balks at his nonchalance. “you’re not going to do anything about it?”</p><p>Sans rolls his shoulders and stretches his cervical vertebrae. This one’s gonna be a pain in his coccyx if he says no, isn’t he? “i’ll talk to him.”</p><p>“Talk”, in this case, being a euphemism for “intimidate with a display of brute force because that’s the only thing that’ll get those damn fells to <em>listen</em>”. He’ll have a nice talk with Mutt. Remind him who the head of household is and why. Ask him what he’s doing with that human.</p><p>“what are you going to say about the bond?” Stretch probes, leaning against the back of the couch and guardedly observing his reactions.</p><p>“…bond?” he asks absentmindedly, the foreground of his attention fixated on finding a way to get the fell to cooperate.</p><p>Stretch is shocked, stirring from off the couch, “you don’t feel it?”</p><p>“feel what?”</p><p>“mutt soulbonded with y/n and her soul seems to think i’m similar enough to be let in on it. thought you’d get wrapped up, too.” he fidgets with the ends of his sleeves, anxiously wondering, “do you think it’s safe, being half bonded like this? i can hear her soul, but she can’t hear mine. it doesn’t…doesn’t feel quite right.”</p><p>Y/N…Sans recalls his ephemeral glimpse of you. A sight that’d been taken away too soon, and without a true introduction. Sans almost laughs at the ridiculousness of it. A bond. That’s where those unblunted emotions had come from. Bonded and he hasn’t even seen your face. That’s rich.</p><p>He recognizes that he should be more upset, considering the supposed significance of a soul bond. Sans is mildly perturbed at most. A level of annoyance equivalent to someone signing him up for a shitty magazine subscription. But instead of getting rubbish dumped on his porch each month, he’s getting you. Bits and pieces of your psyche automatically sent to him, addressed to his magic signature, shared with Mutt and his other alternates. Is it going to be much worse than getting trash delivered to his doorstep, having your feelings affecting him? Or…</p><p>His scientific curiosity wins out and he considers what having access to externally sourced emotions may allow. Sans is too broken to be happy on his own and too lazy to fix himself. This bond could be a loophole to this. He doesn’t need to better himself if he can leech off your happiness and motivation. Sans straightens with the prospect. He can’t control the universe. He can’t control himself. An unsuspecting human, though…</p><p>You, he can control.</p><p>“don’t worry about it, kid.” He eventually answers Stretch, who’d grown increasingly uneasy in the empty silence. “i’ll look into it.”</p><p>He’ll study the situation and your soul. Not for Stretch’s sake, but his own. Sans is going to use this to his advantage. Not today, though. His desire to do anything but sleep slipped away once you’d left. For now, he’s going back to bed.  </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Could it be…the reason we hadn’t seen classic sans yet…he’s been taking depression naps this whole time??? I listened to Dust in the Wind while writing him XD a sad boi, but not an innocent one. My interpretation of the AUs is that classic sans lived through several genocide attempts and the swaps only got pacifist and a few neutral runs. I’d like to think it makes for more contrast between tale and swap besides “smart punny boi is tall now” and the difference in maturity.<br/>Sans and Axe are the most similar of the alternates so for a moment I’d considered if that means vanilla would be a stalker boi too. Just imagine both of them shortcutting into your apartment to be creepy and realizing the other is there. They’d be pissed as fuck just going, “well one of us has to change.”<br/>Sorry the chapter took forever and is so short, Sans is stubborn to write -.- I’m hoping to post the rest of the boi’s reactions to the bond within the week. </p><p>And btw, the end notes are still relevant. There’s darker shit yet to come. Not immediately, but…be prepared!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Chapter 23</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter will start sometime before the bond's conception and end the next morning, sorta like Sans' POV. Hope it's not too confusing but we'll be covering the other's reaction to this period of time before we move forward with the story. Happy reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fang reclines in his hammock, watching dark clouds pass over the stars. The hammock sways soothingly. A strong gust sends loose leaves raining from the canopy overhead and the smattering of small storm clouds to race faster across the sky. He gathers a few fallen leaves from his blankets, reminded of when you’d playfully pelted him with piles of the stuff. The handful of plant matter is squished in his fist as he curls up. Fang is content. His sockets close as his snout snuggles into the side of his bed-fabric. It’s soft, sturdy, and shields his nasal cavity from the onslaught of scents riding the night breeze. </p><p>A long, heavy breath. Another. And another. As he’s leaning over the brink of unconsciousness, it hits him, like a waking dream. His sockets shoot open. A beautiful feeling…blissful connection…pleasure and love swirling in his soul. The stars had never seemed so enchanting as when he watches them with warm waves of affection lapping his bones. </p><p>The dream ends. The sudden absence of affection is cruel and cold. The night sky is still beautiful, but…Fang doesn’t have someone to share it with. He bundles the blanket in his arms and hugs it to his ribcage. What happened? He was happy and now, he’s hurting, holding back magic from leaking out his eye sockets. His tail retreats as closely against him as it can go. He’s sharply aware of his solitude and Fang feels small as the loneliness cuts into him.</p><p><em>this will pass</em>, he reminds himself. No feeling lasts forever. Still, he isn’t eager to wait this one out. He sets the blanket to the side and stands, not bothering with shoes. The undergrowth is textured and spongy under his feet’s phalanges. He falls to all fours, claws digging up dirt, taking a moment to test his limbs’ stability before breaking out into a sprint. The forest flies past him. Branches brush into his skull and sides, he ignores them, letting the brambles snag his pajamas into rags. </p><p>The fast-paced rhythm of his bones bounding over the earth overtakes all thought. Fang dashes deftly past traps, weaving through the woods with practiced ease. The wind whips through his torn clothes; he feels the piercing cold inside and out. He runs until he passes the boundary of their territory and into the foothills. His breaths are pants and his claws are clenched. He collapses onto the undergrowth, throwing his head back, facing the sky as he releases his anguish in a drawn-out howl. “aroooooooooo!” The end pitches with a rough whine as he breaks and waits for a reply. There is none. He’s alone. He howls again, his voice startling the owls from their perches. Over and over, he calls out, the catharsis clearing his mind enough to recognize—this isn’t what he needs.</p><p>No one else communicates this way. Not the other monsters here, not humans. He needs to connect to company on company’s terms. With one last look into the distance mountains, he retraces his steps, darting in the direction of the lodge. When he makes it to the back porch, his clothes have caught a collection of thistles and his claws are coated with mud. He wipes the worst of it on the welcome mat and steps into the kitchen. Right away, he smells it.</p><p>You’re here. His loneliness lifts into a hopeful recognition. You’re nearby and…Fang’s cheekbones color. You’re aroused. He stiffly walks to the sink to clean the soil from his claws. If you smell so intensely like <em>that</em>, you must be…busy. Busy with Mutt, if the way his smoky scent is intimately intertwined with yours is anything to go by. If not ‘busy’ then asleep, as he’s learned humans can become stimulated while they dream. Either way, it wouldn’t be good for him to bother you. His ribcage expands with a long drag of your scent, checking for the tang of fear or blood. There is neither, and his shoulders loosen with a sigh. He rinses the soap from between his finger joints and dries them with a hand towel. He strolls to the charging bay in the corner of the kitchen, where he keeps his phone when he’s not using it. His large claws are clunky with the thin device. Its screen is fractured with branching cracks from where it’d slipped through the gaps of his long fingerbones to fall from the height of his head.</p><p>He seats himself on a barstool and opens his message thread with you. The screen’s pale light is harsh against the darkness of the kitchen. He restively scrolls through your text history. It’s short, on his side. Most of the correspondence’s content was to orchestrate your outings and occasionally, to check in. There are a precious few images intermixed, of him leaning down steeply so that you could pose together in front of a waterfall or meadow. He opens one, setting the phone on the kitchen counter so that he can stare at it as he rests his skull in the crook of his arm. He exhales huffily.</p><p>He’s lost the desperate edge to his need for companionship, but he isn’t content either. Somewhere in between. He’s closer to what he wants but he doesn’t quite know how to get there. Time passes abstractly as he spends hours leaned over a screen, scrolling, and staring at the message bubble and wondering what to say. At the wretched hour of three in the morning, his stumped stewing is interrupted by the overhead lights clicking on.</p><p>Fang blinks rapidly at the sudden brightness. Stretch stands by the light switch, shocked to see him. “s-sorry,” the shorter (but by no means short) skeleton apologizes automatically, unsure what else to say after revealing the reclusive Fang lingering alone in the common areas under the obscurity of night.</p><p>“mm,” Fang accepts the apology, spine straightening and screen darkening with his inattention to it. He’d never spent much time with Blue’s brother as Stretch tends to keep to himself. Still, it’s concerning to see the worry lines creasing his browbones and the shadows of sleeplessness beneath his sockets. “rough night…?” Fang wonders aloud at his haggard appearance.</p><p>“yeah, well,” he scrapes at the side of his temple with several distals. “shouldn’t i be asking you that?”</p><p>Fang looks down at himself. His clothes are torn and dirtied after his rough race through the forest. A rough night, indeed.  “yes.” he replies without further elucidation.</p><p>Stretch isn’t bothered by this. He appears to be occupied with his own thoughts as he wanders to the cupboards only to stare reflectively into them for a while and close them without retrieving anything. He self-consciously notes Fang’s priviness to his mind-muddled conduct and sighs, “thought maybe i was hungry. don’t have much of an appetite, though.”</p><p>“hm.” Fang responds thoughtfully, mooring over whether Stretch wants help, or simply an open ear. “soul hungry?”</p><p>Stretch starts to sulk openly at his suggestion. “you’d think, for the species more in tune with our souls, we’d be able to figure out what the damn thing wants a little easier.”</p><p>“hah.” Fang snorts in agreement with the complaint, his own, similar frustration leaking out. Soul hunger is a vague term for an even vaguer feeling—the sensation of craving an abstract something that you can’t quite put your phalange on.</p><p>“do know one thing,” Stretch says, digging in his hoodie’s front pocket, “i could really go for a cig about now.”</p><p>He lowers his skull to inspect the intricate fissures in his black screen as the orange-clad skeleton escapes onto the porch to smoke. All this time, and he still hasn’t sent you anything. Doesn’t know how to explain what he feels or what he wants. It’s tricky, with this soul hunger stimulating him with yearning and stymying him with uncertainty. His chin raises to take in the scene that’s separated by glass, of Stretch glowering at the stars with an ember between his teeth.</p><p>He slides of the stool and leaves his phone behind, for now, as he reenters the brisk night air and leans into the railing besides Stretch. He’s unsure if his presence is welcome. It’s acknowledged with a sideways glance and nothing more. Regardless, it feels nice to not be alone in this mental maze of his. When the cigarette is getting short, Fang murmurs, “how do you tell someone how you feel…if you don’t know… what it is you’re feeling?”</p><p>Stretch coughs into his hand, stammering, “ah, stars, i don’t—you’re asking the wrong monster. i’m not good with that stuff. don’t have the experience.” Fang watches the puffs of smoke gracefully dissolve and spin away after they’d been violently expelled from the coughing skeleton. In that time, Stretch recovers himself and amends, “but, i can say…start with what you know. if you feel enough for this someone to need to tell them about it, there’s got to be some part of it you understand. build from there.”</p><p>The parts of it he understands…Fang reflects on this. He remembers being happy that you’re happy. Being proud when he’s able to protect you. That feeling of powerlessness when he’s <em>un</em>able to protect you. The companionship of sharing those peaceful moments. The satisfaction of seeing you surmount an obstacle, or improve as you train together, or even simply…seeing you.</p><p>That piece of the puzzle couldn’t be clearer. He wants to see you.</p><p>“thanks,” he tells Stretch, leaving him alone with the last of his cig. The glass door is shut gently, and Fang turns to his phone where he finally types out a message to you: <em>i want to spend more time with you. soon</em>, he adds, before embarrassment can get the best of him. The sound of the text being sent lifts a burden from his shoulders. You won’t read it until you’re no longer ‘busy’, but now, he’s said something. He’s made a fraction of his mysterious emotions heard and feels better for it.</p><p>Later, you can help him put together the pieces, to see the big picture. For now, he’ll get as much sleep as he can before the sunrise. He considers lingering in the lodge and monitoring your scent for signs of danger until you leave, but then Fang admonishes himself. If you were concerned for your safety, you would’ve asked him for his help. You’d promised each other that much. Besides, he’s been up all night and his mind’s a mess. He should rest.</p><p>Fang returns to the dark forest where he navigates to his hammock nook. When he finally falls asleep, he wishes he hadn’t. He dreams of the dreadful day where he’d tracked your blood-scent into the basement. The memory alters with the addition of your saccharine arousal. It mixes unsettlingly with your acrid fear and this time, Fang bursts through the door to find Mutt’s hands around your neck, pinning it harshly into the mattress. Your bruised face begins to blue as you gasp for air. He’s strangling you and you’re barely able to fight it with the way your battered body is beleaguered by bones.</p><p>Fang’s soul fills with fear. He struggles to reach you, movements urgent but slowed to a futile crawl. After what feels like hours, he makes it to Mutt’s bedside to pry his hands off you and throw him against the wall. He disappears before he can collide with the drywall. Fang lifts you into his arms. You’re half-conscious and your HP is low. Even then, you manage to push him off. He allows you stand shakily as you seethe at him, snapping, “Fang you fucking idiot!”</p><p>He’s hit heavily by your rejection. He can only manage a whine in response. Your body is shaking with what could be rage or blood loss as your lifeforce drains from several long cuts under your clothing. “You shouldn’t be here,” you accuse. You use too much of your remaining energy to shove him away from you, lurching backwards. You’re falling and Fang can’t move.</p><p>The gold-fanged skeleton reappears to catch you by your wounds, digging his distals into the seams of ripped flesh under your shirt and drawing fresh waves of blood. Its metallic stench cloys in Fang’s nasal cavity. Your aroused aroma amplifies to match it as more and more blood spills from you. An energy blast coalesces inside his maw, but he’s unable to release it. Mutt is blocked by your body. There’s no getting to him without going through you and Mutt knows it, slow and smug as he reopens your injuries.</p><p>“Don’t you get it, Fang?” you question him, barely conscious and calm now that you’re reunited with your captor. You shiver under each cruel caress. “I<em> want </em>him to hurt me.”</p><p>Fang can only watch in horror as Mutt stabs you from behind, the tip of a blade protruding from your torso and staining the shirt over your stomach with a rapidly growing pool of red. The knife penetrating you twists with a sickening <em>squelch</em>. You moan and arch into your backstabber for support. The scents, the scene—it’s too much. Now Fang feels like the one who’s being strangled. He desperately scratches at his cervical vertebrae as the last spark of life fades from your eyes.</p><p>He wakes up panting. The collar of his sleep shirt is stretched from where he’d clawed it unconsciously. Fang tosses his shirt to the forest floor. It’d already been ruined by his tangle with thorns and now his ribcage is fully free to rise and fall deeply. He feels less rested than he had before he’d fallen asleep and now his loneliness is replaced with a profoundly unsettling anxiety.</p><p>His instincts tell him he may’ve made the worst mistake of his life, leaving you at the lodge with Mutt last night. Are you safe? Are you alive? He scrambles from the hammock and for the second time within a twenty-four-hour period, sprints through the trees towards you. Dawn lights the undergrowth with colorful leaves and beige blossoms. They’re crushed under Fang’s feet.</p><p>He only slows when he starts to smell you. As he nears the tree line, he spots you on the porch with Stretch and Blue. Fang is over a hundred yards away but can see by your small smile and the unblemished spans of skin on your legs that you’re unharmed. He soaks in your safety, reveling in it until you withdraw indoors.</p><p>He wishes he could follow you, but echoes of your dream-self’s harsh words swirl in his mind, holding him back. He shouldn’t go where you don’t want him. You’d never call him a ‘fucking idiot’ in the waking world, yet Fang would find himself unforgivably foolish if he upset you with his sudden surge of overprotectiveness. He’ll wait for you to respond to his message. Until then…</p><p>He nervously examines the doors you’d disappeared behind. With great reluctance, he turns away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Do you know how hard it was to write a lonely Fang howling in the woods without Reader coming to hug him??? It wouldn’t’ve made any damn sense but I was this close to having Reads hear him and them howling together like a couple of weird ass furries in the forest.  </p><p>Stretch and Sans, experiencing the effects of the bond having never met Reader: wtf is this<br/>Fang, moping for hours, picture of Reader right in front of his snout:  what is this???? what do i want??? literally have no idea? what? it? could? possibly? be?????<br/>stars bless our oblivious boi. He’s doing his best, ok?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Chapter 24</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Axe wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight. He’d know that long before he’d settled under the covers and shut his sockets. The inevitability of his restlessness doesn’t make it any less frustrating, though. He grumbles and flips to his other side, as if adjusting his position for the nth time will make unconsciousness come any easier.</p><p>It doesn’t. He lays there and endeavors to block out the hyperawareness of his body and environment for what feels like hours. It’s when he’s given up and started to study the patterns on the ceiling that he’s blanketed with comfort. Relief, security, and <em>fullness.</em> His bones relax. He becomes aware of how warm and snug he is, curled up in bed. How nice it is to be on the surface. How long it’s been since he’s had to dust another monster for food or yell at Papyrus to stay hidden indoors. He feels so safe, he nearly slips off.</p><p>Until, without warning, it’s snatched away. He’s no longer full. He’s empty, and that emptiness is accompanied with the ache of a craving. A craving distinct from his perpetual hunger by its intensity and specificity. He can’t identify the hankering, but he’s no state of mind to deny it. He shuffles out of bed and leaves his room, hoping not to disturb Pap, to stealthily open the fridge door. The vacant kitchen is flooded with the fridge’s inner fluorescence. Its contents are as bleak and unappetizing as its colorless light. None of it looks good. None of it is what he <em>needs</em>.  </p><p>Axe slams the fridge shut with an exasperated hiss. He rummages through the pantry, but the result is the same. The boxes of leftovers, the seal-wrapped cinnamon bunnies, the packets of pumpkin rings, each met with a dissatisfied stare and returned to the shelf. Since when was he ever picky? Axe’s appetite has never been this particular. He <em>could</em> eat the astronaut food, the glam burger, the popato chisps, but…they’re not what he’s looking for.</p><p>Maybe he’ll have better luck in your kitchen. It’s earlier than he’d usually dare to ‘visit’ you, not yet midnight, and you might still be awake. He’ll need to be cautious. He takes a shortcut directly into your closet, where he can ascertain your location through the slats in the doors before sneaking into your food stashes. That plan lasts for all of a breath, before it hits him. That smell…</p><p>You. You’re what he’s craving. He lurches from the closet, falling over himself to get where your scent is strongest. The bed creaks under his weight as he gathers your pillow into his arms. He takes a deep breath against its plush surface. A low growl builds in his chest as he restrains himself from biting into it.</p><p>There’s a knock at the door. Axe pulls away, puzzled. There are remnants of drool from where his mouth met the pillow. His teeth spread into a snarl as an unfamiliar voice calls to him, muffled by the wooden barrier, “Y/N? You’re home early. I didn’t hear you come in. Do you want me to leave? Wuffie’s already had dinner and a late-night snack, so—”</p><p>He doesn’t bother opening the door. Axe teleports behind the human—the <em>stranger</em>—and grabs the back of their head, yanking it back so they can meet his eyelight’s crimson glare.</p><p>They’re breathless and wide-eyed. The fear hasn’t hit fully yet, they manage to stammer, “Y-you’re not Y/N.”</p><p>“neither are you,” he accuses, voice sour with disappointment. “where is she?”</p><p>When they don’t answer right away, Axe bends their head back, baring their throat to him. The human’s head is at an uncomfortably angle. Their pulse hammers visibly beneath the skin stretched thin on the vulnerable junction of their neck. They attempt to claw his hands from his hold on their hair but only succeed in separating several strands from their scalp.</p><p>“She’s out—I don’t know where, just—Stop, let me go! <em>Stop</em>!” the stranger shrieks, terror sinking in as they thrash, hysterically resisting his grip. He sneers at the futile resistance and pins them into the floor of the hallway. The stench of their panic is a splash of arctic water to his senses, a cold contrast to the soothing scent he’d been interrupted from enjoying and tracking. It’s not the same. Not nearly. Though…he wonders… humans’ aromas have variety, but they never taste all that different, do they? He could pretend. Make this ache disappear, if only for the time it takes for him to devour them…</p><p>“y/n ain’t here, huh?” The pathetic human begs and stutters out what Axe recognizes as their last words. Not that he cares to remember them. “…guess you’ll have to do.”</p><p>His dull teeth brutally sever their jugular. The human chokes on their screams as blood floods their throat. The wet, guttural noises are disgusting and Axe silences them with another bite, this one with enough force to sever the spine. For a while, the only sounds are those of his own enjoyment as he tears away chunk after chunk of freshly dead flesh. They fall into the unfillable void. Axe aching soul isn’t sated so much as distracted, engrossed in the afterglow of his kill and the frenzy of the feast.</p><p>He chews at section of facial muscle and reveals a strip of wetly red skull. He doesn’t see a face, only food. Despite his attempts to drown it, an undying question floats upwards from the depths.</p><p>
  <em>…where?</em>
</p><p>His tongue curls around a salty eye, drawing it into his mouth to pop under the pressure of his maw, releasing its odd, savory juices.</p><p><em>where is she? </em>The question burns with urgency as it surfaces in the broken bits of his mind, bobbing in the bloodied waters framed by jagged ice.</p><p><em>i don’t know</em>, he answers himself irritably. His teeth rip off a string of skin, slurping it down like it’s his brother’s special spaghetti.</p><p><em>then </em>find<em> her.</em></p><p>He drinks from the pool of blood that spouts freely from beneath the mass of gore that is no longer recognizable as a human.</p><p><em>n o w</em>.</p><p>He lifts his skull from the ground, panting. There’s a whine, farther down the hall. His skull snaps to it. Your dog is there, hackles raised, sniffing at the rich metallic fluids spreading from beneath the body. He’s preparing to defend his food from the damn hound when it yips at him. He answers with a growl. Not happy with that, it yips again, insistent. It crosses the hall to nose Axe’s scowling skull. Its paws paint the floors with petals of red as it skitters and searches for the treat that usually accompanies his visits. It licks him, slimy tongue slipping out to pepper his phalanges with kisses.</p><p>“augh,” he complains, the familiar gross sensation shaking him out of his tumult. A shred of sanity is regained. Axe sits slumped against the wall, watching red liquid soak his tattered slippers. “where’s your master, wuffs?”</p><p>No reply. He scratches the base of her ears and captures her collar when she gets too curious about the raw meat littering her human’s floors. “that’s not for you,” he rebukes hollowly. Earlier elation has given way to a bone-weary defeat. He can’t believe what he’s just done. He’s on the surface and he’s sliding back into his old ways. Over a <em>damn smell</em>. He shakes his skull at himself, his soul in despair.  He can’t be hungry for human. Feeding that urge would leave him with more LV than is safe for someone of his instability. Another kill could permanently shatter the fragile balance he has in his mental state.  And the other humans, the authorities…if they start investigating him, how’s he supposed to look after Pap?</p><p>He turns to the corpse and licks the drying blood from his teeth. He supposes he’s already gotten the LV from this one. He’ll worry about the police later. For now…</p><p>He won’t let anything go to waste.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Presently…</em>
</p><p>You’ve scarcely left the void when you’re shoving Mutt off. Your anger would be palpable even if he couldn’t viscerally feel it. “What’d you do that for? I was going to make plans with Blue. And popping up in my apartment out of nowhere like this—what were you thinking? We’re going to scare the dogsitter!” You release him from your glare to inspect your living room, lit only with the dawn, wondering aloud, “Cameron? Cam? Where are you?”</p><p>Mutt inhales to prepare to comfort you, to defend himself, to say something, but the air is full of danger. The atmosphere carries three threatening smells: Fear. Death. And <em>Axe</em>. He seizes the sleeve of his sweater you’re wearing, a sight he’s too distraught to enjoy properly, and clutches the fabric like a lifeline. He’s staggered with stark discomfort as you try to brush him off. The end of your sleeve stays firmly balled in his fist as you investigate your apartment. The fabric is pulled taut, exposing your shoulder as you peer into archways and around corners. His other hand lifts to reach for you, but your attention is elsewhere.</p><p>Your collie runs up to greet you. She stands on her rear legs to jump and paw at your torso. You’re relieved at the sight of her, until you notice the dark scarlet congealed onto the fur of her leg, gasping, “Shit, Wuffie. What happened?” You gingerly part tufts of fur, dry crimson powder falling from it with your disruption, to inspect her skin beneath. It’s unmarked. Your brows furrow in confusion. “The hell…?”</p><p>He has a good guess as to whose blood that is. He hopes you weren’t too attached to this dogsitter of yours. His concern isn’t for ‘Cam’ as he imagines what would’ve happened if you’d been here last night. You, leaving him forever…dead and gone…killed, and not by him…</p><p>Mutt’s grasp on your sweater tightens. He’s glad he’d grabbed the fabric instead of your wrist, otherwise his phalanges would be breaking skin.</p><p>That latter thought irks him more than he’d like to admit. <em>axe, that fucking bastard.</em> The audacity of that broken, knock-off vanilla, trying to prey on his human. Hate has grown where once there had been only indifference. Mutt is resolute—Axe doesn’t get to have any of you. Not your attention, not your time, and especially not your death.</p><p>Mutt opens his jaw, eager to give you a reason to stay away from Axe for good, before it occurs to him to ask himself—how will you react to learning that your ‘friend’ is a murderer? He’s desperately curious. He’s also a hypocrite. He wants you to reject Axe for taking a human life while forgiving him for taking many more, and for less cause. He can’t tell you and risk seeing the look of betrayal and horror that’s sure to mirror the one when you find out about his not-so-distant past of human hunting.</p><p>Eventually he’ll be forced to face it. There’s hardly a chance of keeping it a secret, with this bond. You’ll share in his bloodlust now. You’ll itch with him. Mutt worries the compulsions of his high LV may be contagious. But if you do experience it with him…maybe…that means you could come to understand. A dark desire sprouts in the cockles of his soul. You could become just as fucked up and violent as him. Then how could you turn him away, while his own sins echo within you?</p><p>Mutt isn’t sure what to feel. This bond is his deepest fantasies and his bleakest fears, all at once. Does he strengthen it? Let it gradually dissolve? Breaking it isn’t an option, on his end. He could never hate you enough for his soul to eliminate your essence from within it. The essence of you that he’s not sure how got in there in the first place. It’s as if he’d unconsciously pulled a piece of your soul into his. Is it possible to take only a part of it out? An unmissable amount of magic, to match his own that had journeyed its way through your core and into the culmination of your being…</p><p>“Cam’s not answering,” you interrupt his internal speculation, frowning at your phone. “This isn’t like them. They were always the best of my coworkers at communicating. And now they’re letting my calls go to voicemail, leaving my messages on read!” </p><p>You nibble your lip and scratch the curve of your shoulder that the sweater fails to cover. “I’m not sure I trust that Cameron did their job properly.” You nervously look over your dog for any more signs of harm. Besides the patch of dried blood, there are none. “Have you even been fed? C’mon Wuffie, let’s get some breakfast!”</p><p>You head to the kitchen, Mutt following shortly behind by the leash of your sleeve. You set your phone on the kitchen counter on your way to retrieving a bag of the collie’s kibble. A healthy portion of it is dumped unceremoniously into a metal food bowl. It dings with each pebble of food that falls, except the ones that plop into the water bowl adjacent to it. Wuffie sniffs at it, wets her tongue in the water a few times, then continues to pester you for affection. “Not hungry, huh?” your tone is relieved but suspicious. Once you’ve soothed yourself by the staring into of Wuffie’s loving eyes and with the stroking of her long, fluffy fur, your focus falls to the monster beside you.</p><p>“You’ve been acting strange all morning. Is this because of last night?” Your voice loses some of its stability as you continue, quieter, “Do you…regret it?”</p><p>“no, fuck no darlin’, i—” he flusters, finally releasing his fist of fabric to scrape at the surface of his skull. He needs to patch this up. How? He hasn’t had enough time. His and m’lord’s questions are unanswered, he has no clue what to do, what to tell you. His system is haywire at the menacing presence of Axe’s lingering scent. It floats in a threatening and sickly miasma around you. It’s disgusting. <em>Wrong</em>. Mutt needs to get you away from it.</p><p>He thought you would be safe here, but are you safe anywhere, with Axe after you? His earlier paranoia returns with an onerous lurch. He can’t trust any location that the alternate has access to. Your arms cross. You’re unimpressed with his hesitation, prompting “You what? Please finish. If you don’t start explaining, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”</p><p><em>no</em>. He can’t leave you. You’d be unaware and unprotected from the danger he’s brought down on you. In his panic, he heaves out words, insisting, “it was an accident. last night—i didn’t mean to and—well, i meant to fuck you, yeah, but there’s some…consequences.”</p><p>You strain to digest his word vomit, face scrunching thoughtfully, “Consequences? Did you give me some kind of monster STD?!”</p><p>He snickers with black amusement, “depends. do you consider feelin’ my emotions through a magic bond to be a disease?” If you don’t now, you will eventually. His feelings <em>are</em> a disease. One that will continue to strengthen and spread in you the more sex with him you have...</p><p>“No! Wait, what? I can do that?” You awareness turns inward, your gaze going blankly into the distance before snapping back to his own, “That feeling…I thought it was foreboding, a gut instinct telling me something’s wrong, but…that fear is yours?”</p><p>Mutt is struck by how revealing it is, having you aware of his raw and unshielded emotions. He figures it’s possible to block his soul from sending so much of them, but he isn’t sure how. He’ll need to figure that out quick unless he wants to get used to this constant vulnerability.</p><p>He nods confirmation and your lips purse. Your brows furrow as you hone in on the emotions you’re receiving. “What’s got you so terrified?” you ask, your voice leaking with open concern.</p><p>He holds back another humorless chuckle. There are so many reasons to be afraid, especially for you. Which of them are safe to share? He steps into your embrace, holding you close while he considers what dangers he decides you can know about. He strokes your hair, whispering in your ear the least of his worries—self-preservation. “the bond, it’s a bit of a risk, fer us monsters. ‘s why most of us take some time before decidin’ t’ do it. if you’re hurt, ‘r if you die…well, the trauma could dust me.”</p><p>You make a sound that’s something in between a gasp and a guffaw. “Seriously? That sucks,” you squeeze him tighter. He basks in your worry, comforted by the sensation of the cushioned bones beneath your skin pressing into his. “I’m sorry your fate is wrapped up in this squishy, weak human body. Is the reverse true? What happens to me if you die?”</p><p>“it’d hurt like a bitch, but I don’t think you’d die. humans are made of sturdier stuff.”</p><p>You sigh, rubbing the back of his ribs, “No wonder you were so clingy. I’d be acting weird too, if my life was literally out of my hands. Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”</p><p>“you should,” he realizes aloud.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“go somewhere. anywhere. we both should. ‘s common for newly bonded pairs to take some time off together, to adjust. a bit like—” he catches himself before he can say ‘like a human honeymoon’. He doesn’t want to scare you with those implications about the gravity of the bond, despite them being accurate. “like a special vacation,” he concludes instead.</p><p>“Oh. That makes sense. This ‘being able to feel your emotions’ thing is definitely going to take some adjusting to. It—Does it go both ways? Can you feel me, as well?” the question is posed with curiosity, but he can sense the edge of self-consciousness to it.</p><p>“yeah. don’t mind, tho. you know how i love feelin’ ya,” he quips, cupping your ass for emphasis. He gives it a squeeze and to his delight he can sense a spur of arousal.</p><p>“Ahahah, I bet you don’t,” your tone turns teasing, “I’d also wager this bond does a great deal in heightening bedroom pleasures?”</p><p>How could Mutt forget? It’s one of the best blessings of the bond, to be able to feel your lover’s pleasure in addition to your own. He caresses the backs of your thighs and pulls your hips against his, feeling frisky despite the looming knowledge that getting intimate with you before he’s decided the fate of the bond is flirting with danger. He answers distractedly, “definitely.”</p><p>You laugh. “And you’re sure this bond was on accident?”</p><p>His hands freeze, his lust sobering. Are you implying that he bonded with you, without your consent, for what…his own kicks? You must sense his offense because you rapidly respond, “No, I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. To joke about you bonding with me for the sexual benefit when you’re so obviously distraught with the consequences. I wasn’t thinking properly.”</p><p>He resumes his caresses, shrugging off the tension, “can’t blame ya for not thinkin’ properly, darlin’. not with this corrupting influence so close by.”</p><p>“Exactly. My Mutt’s always muddling my thoughts, though not so badly that I’ve forgotten my dogsitter is MIA. Who’s going to watch Wuffie if we go on this ‘special vacation’?”</p><p>“m’lord could.” Black would be ecstatic to have the Beast back, for any amount of time, but especially for a full few days. It might even be enough to offset his displeasure at Mutt ditching his responsibilities. His mentioning of m’lord seems to have triggered an unpleasant line of thinking as even if he couldn’t feel your muscles tensing under his hands, there’s a spark of anxiety from your soul. Not a full-on distress call, but certainly enough to be notable.</p><p>“No, uh, I don’t think I’d be comfortable with that. But Blue might be willing to. Let me call him.” You attempt to step out of his hug, but he only pulls away enough to give you room to grab your phone before settling his skull back on top of your head.</p><p>You dial the runt, and his obnoxious voice is easily audible, greeting, “Hello, Y/N! Are You Calling To Plan Our Super Special Friends Night? Why Don’t You Come On Downstairs? I’m In The Kitchen Making Breakfast! Tell Me, How Do You Like Your Coffee?”</p><p><em>Super Special Friends Night</em>? Mutt doesn’t like the sound of that. He snarls under his breath and you shush him, saying, “About that, Blue. I would love to join you for coffee, but I’m no longer at the lodge.”</p><p>“Oh.” Blue’s blatant disappointment gives rise to a certain smugness in Mutt’s countenance as the runt continues, “Where Are You, Then?”</p><p>“I’m home, and about to leave on vacation. Mutt and I are going away for a while. I was wondering if you’d be so kind as to keep an eye on Wuffie for the next few days? I’ll give you a key to my place or you could keep her with you. She just needs to be feed twice a day and taken out for walkies. Would you be willing? I’d pay you—”</p><p>“No Need, Y/N! I Would Love To Look After Your Dog, The Wuffster Is A Delight! Just Promise We’ll Have That Slumber Party When You Get Back, Okay?”</p><p>“Okay! Sounds good, Blue. Thank you so much!”</p><p>You say your goodbyes and once he hears the dial tone he huffs, “slumber party? ‘m i invited?”</p><p>You roll your eyes, “We’re about to have a sleepover of our own for the next several days, you numbskull. Don’t get greedy.” Mutt makes a show of playfully nipping at the finger you wag at him. “Ah, bad dog! Anyways, this vacation…”</p><p>“yeah?”</p><p>“We’re <em>not</em> running away. You’re going to tell Black about it, or I am.”</p><p>Ah. Right. Considering what happened the last time he skipped town, course you’d want to avoid a repeat. “i’ll inform m’lord.”</p><p>“Okay, good. We have a lot more to talk about, with this bond stuff, but until we've settled down I just have one more question…” you grin and bounce your eyebrows. “Where are we going?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Have you ever tried to be unhinged and edgy around a dog that wants your attention? Shit just doesn’t work. </p><p>Tell me where you’d like to go on vacation! I make no promises about a lack of angst, but I figure dear Reader has earned a bit of a break. I have a few places in mind. Something oceanside would be cool, or Reader could drag Mutt’s bony ass around modern art museum or whatever. Lots of options but let’s be honest, most of the vacation Mutt’ll want to spend in the hotel room ;)</p><p>Made a little cheat sheet of how the bonded bois react differently to your absence/presence.<br/>Fang—Loneliness/Belonging<br/>Axe—Hunger/Fullness<br/>Mutt—Anxiety/Comfort<br/>Stretch—Longing/Love<br/>Sans—Numbness/Sensation</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Chapter 25</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello again, my wonderful readers. Sorry for the long wait on this update. I swear it isn't because I'm losing interest in this story or running out of ideas, kind of the opposite actually. It's just that we're finally getting into the stuff I'd initially imagined when conceiving of this fic. I'm like, we're nearly 100k words in and I'm just getting here NOW? Geez.<br/>I've taken a step back to look at my pacing and reevaluated the broader picture in light of the unplanned directions some aspects of the fic have grown and now I'm more or less back on track. Hopefully I should be back to posting every other week, at least. Before we get back into it, a few announcements:<br/>First, I'd like to revisit a topic I've mention here and there before--the dark direction of the fic. There will be fluff and light-hearted moments throughout, but I'd like you to keep in mind that overall this story isn't about healthy people or relationships and the plot is going to reflect that. As things escalate I won't give warnings each time unless an important new one becomes relevant. I'll try to go through and tag any sensitive subjects I may have missed, but the big ones will be getting a lot of use: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Unhealthy Relationships, Somnophilia, general gore and disturbing subjects ahead. </p>
<p>Second is about endings. I'm thinking there will be multiple. I'm about halfway through (if I'm being optimistic) and I'm hoping to finish by the end of 2021. There won't necessarily be a "good" ending and a "bad" ending but some will definitely be lighter than others. I'm still deciding if there will be one "true" ending, with the others posted separately, or if it'll be more of an open-ended kinda thing. Let me know if you have any strong preferences on the subject and thanks for being PATIENT!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“could go anywhere.” Mutt answers, brushing a handful of hair away from your face. “anywhere i‘ve seen, at least. ‘less you wanna use human methods to get around.”</p>
<p>You imagine shelling out several hundred dollars to spend half a day of your vacation in the bleak and crowded maze of the airport, alternating rushing and waiting, with little to look forward to but a cramped window seat until you arrive at your destination. You wouldn’t mind skipping all that.</p>
<p>“No, let’s teleport. What are the most scenic places you’ve been? Anywhere with a beach?”</p>
<p>Mutt lists the options, emphasizing the amenities and going vague on the details. After a minute listening to him dance around the topic of <em>where</em> any of these fun-sounding places are, you realize why he might be hesitant.</p>
<p>“Are these the places you’d go when you’d…leave?” you press cautiously, fingers curling in the fabric of his tank top. You’re mindful of his bad habit to vanish or shut down when prompted for sensitive information and while you don’t want to upset him, you have to risk it. He can’t keep you in the dark about something so relevant to you. Being teleported to an undisclosed location, with your only source of transportation being this skittish skeleton? That could end poorly. That is, with you <em>being</em> poor, trying to pay for a last-minute flight home from an unfamiliar place. Knowing exactly where you’re going won’t prevent a sticky situation like that, but it would leave you with more confidence to navigate it.</p>
<p>He answers after a long inhale, “yeah. that a problem?”</p>
<p>Black claimed to have no knowledge of where he went when he ran away, although he’d speculated that it’d been a series of sketchy hotels to binge in. The venues Mutt described seemed much nicer than what his brother had assumed. Still, you need to be certain that revisiting the places he used to escape won’t bring with it any baggage. You’ll be bringing enough baggage with you already.</p>
<p>“Not inherently,” you start, looking at the lines of his ribcage through his tank top. “But are these spots of yours secret? I’ve told you; I want Black to be informed and that means knowing where we’ll be. Are you going to be okay with that?” You raise your eyes to meet his meaningfully.</p>
<p>Another pause for a drawn-out breath before sighing, “suppose. so long as it’s kept between us three.”</p>
<p>He doesn’t want his cousins to know? You’re not sure exactly why that would be, but you’re relieved that he’s willing to share his hideouts with you and his brother. That must be a step in the right direction—a sign he’s given up on running away as a nonsolution to his problems.</p>
<p>“Alright. Then I think our first stop should be that themed hotel, the one with the cool spa and an open-air marketplace nearby. Where is it?”</p>
<p>“that one? mm, venico, prob’ly.” </p>
<p>“Venico? The culture capital of the world?” disbelief and excitement color your voice despite knowing, “I don’t have a passport. I doubt we could get one soon enough to go there for this trip.”</p>
<p>Mutt’s merely amused. “whadda ya need a passport for, darlin’? yer with me.”</p>
<p>Oh. You guess there’s not going to be anyone there to check your documentation when you fucking <em>teleport</em> across country lines. Still… “I’m not sure if breaking the law is the best start to our vacation.”</p>
<p>He chuckles and ruffles your hair, “not illegal if you don’t get caught. you know we’ll get away with it.” You bite your lip and skeptically scrutinize his devil-may-care grin. “c’mon mistress…be an international criminal with me?”</p>
<p>His confidence is compelling, and he’s certainly competent enough with his magic to evade law enforcement, but you worry, “What if we get separated or something goes wrong? If I need to get home on my own, not having a passport is going to be a big problem.”</p>
<p>Mutt grabs one of your hands on his chest and nuzzles it against his cheekbone, murmuring, “not gonna get separated. i’ll be with you the ‘ole time, always.”</p>
<p>His seriousness makes you want to poke at his funny bone a little, teasing, “In that case, you’d better bring your leash. I’m not letting go of it the entire trip.”</p>
<p>“lookin’ forward to it.”</p>
<p>You playfully push him off, shaking your head humorously. “I’d better get packing, then.”</p>
<p>“an’ i’d better call m’lord.” He doesn’t sound happy about it but separates from you to step into the living room while you stroll down the hall.</p>
<p>You pause with a hand on your bedroom doorhandle, catching a whiff of a something odd. What is that? You observe your surroundings yet don’t see a source for the strong chemical scent lingering in the hall. Could Wuffie have had an accident that Cam cleaned up before they mysteriously left? No, that would be strange. Wuffie is well-trained and doesn’t often make a mess indoors. Unless she throws up, for whatever reason. You nervously return to the living where your collie is trailing Mutt as he aimlessly wanders while on the phone. The imperceptible rumble of his low voice halts as you step into his view. His skull shifts into a silence question.</p>
<p>Not knowing how to explain yourself yet, only wanting to check in on your dog, you whisper, “Keep an eye on her.” He nods and continues his conversation, quietly. You take a last gander before you head over to your room. Wuffie <em>seems</em> normal, yet the paranoia persists and culminates with a realization—the blood on her leg, it hadn’t been accompanied by a wound, but what if it’d come from her in a different way?</p>
<p>Your brain pieces the puzzle together and you picture your precious puppy vomiting blood from some unknown ailment while you’re away. Cameron sees it and freaks out. They’re terrified of disappointing others and anyone would be disturbed at watching another’s dog only for her to get seriously sick. That you could understand somewhat, but…Cam…would their fear of your reaction really overcome their empathy and concern for an innocent animal in need of help?</p>
<p>It still doesn’t quite make sense. Regardless, you resolve to take Wuffie into a vet for an emergency check-up before you leave. That should offer some peace of mind, if not answers. You step into your room and take mental stock of everything you’ll need to pack. Your second realization starts slowly, creeping in as you stare at your rumbled bedding. Didn’t you make your bed before you left?</p>
<p>Scrunching your brows, you turn to your closet to begin pulling out outfits fitting of the warm Venico climate when you notice it’s already open. You always leave it closed; it looks too messy otherwise.</p>
<p>It slaps you across the face—<em>Someone’s been in my room. </em>Your jaw tightens and you hug your upper arms. Even on a good day, Cam entering your sleeping space uninvited would be a violation of privacy. As is, on top of everything else, this is concerning. You thought you knew them. You’d never been close but working together for a year had given you enough of an understanding of their character to call them a good person. Clearly, you’d been wrong. Could Cam have agreed to dog sit only to take advantage of your trust, snooping around and stealing from you?</p>
<p>You carefully comb your room for any missing valuables. The big targets, your laptop and the stash of weed under your bed, are thankfully intact. Just as you’re beginning to relax you start to notice a few articles of clothing are unaccounted for. That could be attributed to your dryer eating them, but one of your pillows is missing, too. Fully unnerved now, you scan the rest of your house. Expensive crystal wine goblets? Left alone. That half-eaten slice of cake you’d been saving for later? Gone.</p>
<p>It’s all nonsensical and you’ve half convinced yourself you’re going crazy when Mutt pops into existence by your side. “what’s eatin’ at ya?”</p>
<p>How did he—right, the bond. His tense tone makes it obvious that your fear is affecting him. It makes you feel guilty to add to his burden when he’s already struggling with his own recent vulnerability, but besides the tragic possibility that your death could dust Mutt, the fact that being a weird kind of empath has been added to your friendship’s ‘benefits’ is the least of your worries.</p>
<p>You drag your palm over your face, smoothing out the worry lines. “I’m just really glad we’re leaving on vacation soon. I don’t feel safe here.”</p>
<p>You feel a certain gratification in him as he pulls you into a hug. “yer safe with me,” he murmurs into your ear. Returning his embrace, you stroke his spine several times before taking a deep, calming breath and pull apart.</p>
<p>“Let’s get out of here.” You pull some pants on (finally) packing all your and Wuffie’s necessities in record time. It’s when you’re lugging your bags to the parking lot when you sense something is off, for the umpteenth time today. “My car is still at Brian’s house, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>“nyeh. your panties, too.”</p>
<p>“Damn it. There’s no way I’m getting those back, too embarrassing,” you give yourself a second to mourn those cute lacey underthings. Poor panties. Ripped off and now abandoned. “Would you teleport over there and drive my car back for me?”</p>
<p>“nope. vacation’s started. we’re stickin’ together, remember?”</p>
<p>You deadpan. “We’re ten feet away from the house.”</p>
<p>“buddy system or bust,” he shrugs, hands in his pockets.</p>
<p>“Well buddy, unless you can shortcut me, Wuffie, and the luggage at the same time, we’re not going anywhere.”</p>
<p>You glower at Mutt until his smug composure cracks. “’ll call a cab.”</p>
<p>And here you’d thought you’d be avoiding the worst of human transportation today. The skeleton’s stubborn refusal to separate costs you half an hour that could’ve been spent on the sunny streets of Venico, sipping an overpriced drink and admiring the art deco architecture. Instead, you spend it waiting for your taxi and riding in the backseat with a visibly unnerved driver peeking back at Mutt’s skull every several seconds. Wuffie is the only one who enjoys the experience.</p>
<p>At least it ends well—with the luggage securely stuffed into your trunk and the three of you buckled into your car. You’d shared your suspicions about Cam with Mutt and he’d agreed to your detour. You drive to the nearest pet clinic and hope they have an open appointment. Luckily, it doesn’t seem busy and your collie is only mildly resistant as you guide her into the vet’s office.</p>
<p>The good fortune doesn’t last and before the vet can introduce herself Wuffie is barking. And barking, and barking, and barking. No growls, no raised hackles, but regardless of how you try to comfort her, she continues to woof away.</p>
<p>“Your dog has much to say,” the woman remarks good-naturedly, pushing her glasses up her nose.</p>
<p>Slightly ashamed of Wuffie’s uncharacteristically vocal attitude, you explain to the vet, “She’s normally not this… passionate. What is it girl? Did Timmy fall down the well?”</p>
<p>“Is this the reason you’ve brought her in today? A change in behavior can be a sign of sickness, but afraid there’s not much I can do for—”</p>
<p>“No, sorry, it’s not that. I found out that my dogsitter bailed on me, and I’m worried that Wuffs here wasn’t well taken care of. I’d just like to check in and make sure she’s healthy.”</p>
<p>“she’s got a healthy pair o’ pipes, tha’s fer sure,” Mutt jokes as the barking drags on. Wuffie keeps looking back at you, and then at the lab-coat wearing woman, expectantly. If she were whining and afraid it’d be one thing, but it seems she’s trying to tell you something.</p>
<p>Per the vet’s instructions, you lift your dog onto the examination table and stand nearby as she circles the platform with a critical examination. You admire her professionalism and focus despite the little noisemaker Wuffie is being.</p>
<p>Once she spots the patch of dried blood she pulls on a pair of gloves and assesses the skin beneath. “Do you know where this came from?”</p>
<p>“I don’t,” you admit woefully.</p>
<p>“Don’t be alarmed. Pets are wonderful cuddly companions to us, and vicious predators to any prey animals nearby. It’s possible that your—Wuffs, was it? Very fitting—has made a meal of an unfortunate bird or mouse. If your dogsitter shirked their duties and didn’t feed Wuffs, her hunger could have driven her to seek out a meal elsewhere.”</p>
<p>Could the explanation be so simple? “But I didn’t see a body. No fur or feathers,” you argue.</p>
<p>She explains, “It’s common for smaller critters to be eaten whole.  If it doesn’t sit right in her stomach, there’s a chance you’ll see the body soon.” Gross. You hope you’re not leaving Wuffie with Blue only for her to heave the gore of an innocent animal snack right at his feet. You can’t imagine he’d react well to that.</p>
<p>You get a break from the barking as the vet leaves. A technician soon replaces her to draw a sample of Wuffie’s blood, cleaning away the dry, rusty flakes from her fur beforehand. Once her vitals are recorded, the vet (and the barking) returns. It takes a bit of guesswork but the three of you finally figure out the source of Wuffie’s fussing.</p>
<p>The vet has a concealed carry. All this time, your dog was trying to tell you about the gun holstered on her hip, hidden behind her labcoat. You knew Wuffie had been trained to sniff out gunpowder but seeing her skills in action, especially after a long break in practice, is impressive.</p>
<p>“I usually only encounter K-9 units with such talents. Does Wuffs have a history in the police force or military?” the vet questions curiously, her gun having been stowed in her personal locker where Wuffie can’t be bothered by it.</p>
<p>“Not any that I know of.”</p>
<p>“Hm, well your Wuffie is a clever girl. And perfectly healthy, it seems. All test results have come back clear. No rabies or heartworms. Her red blood cell count is good, and her weight is healthy for a dog of her breed and age.”</p>
<p>With that weight off your shoulders, you leave for the lodge. Mutt drives while you give Wuffie some last-minute love. She sits on your lap and hangs her head out the window, getting facefuls of fresh air. Fang had texted you about wanting to see you, so you plan to see him after teaching Blue how to take care of your very good girl.</p>
<p>On second thought, why not include Fang on the lesson? He doesn’t have a job to worry about, so he’ll be able to keep Wuffie company when Blue is at work. And while the gentle skeleton doesn’t match her playful energy to the same extent Blueberry does, you imagine she’d enjoy accompanying him on his frequent woodland walks. Mind made up, you message Fang with your intention.</p>
<p>You absentmindedly scratch the long fur at the nape of Wuffie’s neck as you watch the trees blur by. You wish you had more time to spend with him. The tone of his text made it seem like something might be upsetting him, but you may be reading into it too much. If he acts off in person, you’ll try to talk things out with him before you leave.</p>
<p>You arrive and knock on the front door. A trio of monsters welcome you. To your pleasant surprise, Stretch is among them, standing shily behind Blue on the opposite side from Fang.</p>
<p>“Hey guys. How’s it going?” You step inside, Wuffie’s leash in hand. Mutt is carrying her luggage and manages to free a hand that rests on the curve of your lower back.</p>
<p>Stretch gives you a thumbs up. Fang simply grunts. Blue bravely rises to the challenge of your small talk and greets, “Hello Again, Y/N! This Morning Has Been Very…Unique.” His smile is strained.</p>
<p>“Not unique in a bad way, I hope,” you comment, concerned at seeing Blue’s boisterous energy beleaguered.</p>
<p>A weak chuckle forces its way past his teeth. “Don’t Worry—It’s Better Now That You And Wuffie Are Here!”</p>
<p>“I’m glad.” You turn your attention to the hoodie-clad male in the peripheries of your vision. “Stretch? Did you want to learn how to take care of this fluffy beast, too?”</p>
<p>He answers indecisively, “yeeah… i like dogs?” You’re not sure why he phrased it like a question, but you nod politely at his response.</p>
<p>Mutt, however, is distinctly impolite as he snorts, “news to me.” You side-eye him for the unnecessary antagonizing. He’s unfazed, lazily tracing patterns into the small of your back as he stares, unimpressed, at Stretch.</p>
<p>Stretch’s expression morphs into a hybrid pout and glare. “i like <em>some</em> dogs,” he corrects. “only the cute ones.”</p>
<p>“Well, Wuffie here is plenty cute, as you can see. I’m sure you’ll get along. Just be wary of her tendencies to treat your tibulas like a chew toy and you’ll be fine.” You turn to Mutt, “Do you want to get packed while I show them the ropes?”</p>
<p>“nah.” he stays where he is, drawing slow circle after circle over your spine. You sigh. Not this again.</p>
<p>“We’re literally in your house right now. It doesn’t count as vacation until we leave.”</p>
<p>“said always, didn’t i? ‘m a monster of my word,” Mutt claims dubiously, “an’ i seem to recall a promise mistress made to not let go.” He weaves your hand with his own and through his collar, tugging himself down to your eye level. “hold on tight, hm?”</p>
<p>Before you can protest, an interruption has you yanking your hand and attention away from your insubordinate disaster skeleton. A sound of clearing one’s throat from Blue, followed by a weary subject change, “Where Will You Be Traveling On This Trip, Y/N?”</p>
<p>Of course, the decorous gentlemen Blueberry would find it awkward to be exposed to your and Mutt’s kinky talk. In front of his little brother, no less. Disturbing Black with your PDA is fine, funny even. Current company…it’s less so. You intend to tone it down and apologize but before the words can leave your mouth, Mutt answers, casually lying, “can’t say. it'd spoil the surprise.”</p>
<p>Fang, Blue, and Stretch exchange looks. You keep up his cousin-centered secrecy but for peace of mind, add, “I’ll text you when we get there and tell you all about it when I get back, sound good?”</p>
<p>Stretch starts, “u-um…”</p>
<p>Blue buts in, “When You Get Back? When Will That Be? Can I Expect Our Super Special Slumber Party Soon?”</p>
<p>“I’ll get back in a couple days—” you reply just as Mutt supplies, ‘a week’. Now it’s his and your turn to trade glances. “You know I’ve got work, right?”</p>
<p>“call in,” he suggests simply. You roll your eyes.</p>
<p>Fang pipes up softly, “when it happens…can i come?”</p>
<p>You can’t say no to that hopeful expression of his, but you catch Blue’s hesitance as it’s his turn to stammer, “W-Well…”</p>
<p>You feel torn. You want to include Fang, but Blueberry’s been looking forward to this slumber party thing for a while now, and you’d kept pushing it back. With his visible reluctance at changing his plans yet again to accommodate Fang’s presence, you jump in to salvage the situation, proposing, “Fang, how about we do something on our own the next time I’ve got time off? There’s plenty left to see in Sylvan Ravine.”</p>
<p>His face lightens, nodding. Though you’ve made an effort to keep the peace, unrest remains. No one seems fully satisfied. Even Wuffie is winding the leash around your legs with her restiveness. Pushing aside your disappointment at the tense atmosphere, you settle for doing what you came here for—teaching your audience how to keep the furball happy and healthy.</p>
<p>The instruction goes smoothly. Fang and Stretch are attentive, though the latter’s attention keeps slipping to Wuffie whenever you meet his gaze. Blue flatters you by taking notes. Seeing him record the important details of her care gives you confidence in your choice. Blue will do a great job, though his diligence inspires several unflattering nicknames from Mutt. Alongside ‘runt’, ‘teacher’s pet’ and ‘kiss-ass’ have been added to the mix.</p>
<p>Stretch responded very maturely to the mocking with some name-calling of his own, ‘delinquent dog’ and ‘pervy bastard’ to name a few. Despite the insults directed at your friend, you don’t take offense on his behalf. Hearing Stretch’s low cadence lose its uncertainty as it solidifies into petty scorn is oddly endearing. Good for him, standing up for Blue. Mutt’s being a pill today and if he’s dishing it out, he can take it.</p>
<p>The back-and-forth peaks when the two fucking <em>stick their tongues out</em> at each other when they thought you weren’t looking. Absolute dorks. Mutt’s tongue is sandwiched between a ‘V’ of his phalanges as he smirks in your direction. Blue’s eyelights bulge at the impropriety as Stretch scowls. You shake your head, smiling. These skeletons’ shenanigans…you wish they’d play nice with each other, but you can’t help finding amusement in the silliness of it all. It feels nice to have everyone together like this. All warm and fuzzy inside. All you'd need is to add Axe into the mix, and you'd have quite the party, though you suspect his presence would only serve as a catalyst for more tumultuous banter. “Seriously. How old are you two? Twelve?”</p>
<p>“i’m an adult.” Stretch insists, crossing his arms.</p>
<p>Mutt snickers, “technically we’re the same age, but the boy’s a late bloomer, barely more 'n a babybones where it counts.”</p>
<p>Perturbed by the beginnings of hurt showing on Stretch’s skull, you’re relieved that Blueberry leaps to his defense, “My Brother Is A Wonderful And Mature Individual, Blooming Perfectly On Time! In Fact, Multiple Monsters Have Called Stretch An Old Soul, Wise Beyond His Years!”</p>
<p>You chime in with your own rebuttal, “Yeah, Mutt. It’s bold of you to call him a boy while you’re the one clinging to the buddy system all day.”</p>
<p>Unruffled by the criticism, Mutt winks, “only fer you, darlin’.”</p>
<p>You sigh before steering the conversation back to the topic at hand. “I think I’ve covered everything you need to know about Wuffie. Do you guys have any questions before I go?”</p>
<p>For some reason, Blue looks meaningfully at his younger brother, whose sockets widen. The shorter skeleton asserts, “Stretch Has Something To Ask.”</p>
<p>“Oh?” you encourage, “Ask away.”</p>
<p>Stretch averts his eyes as his cheekbones dust with orange. Blueberry nudges him with an elbow, urging him along. “yeah, y-y/n…i was wondering…” he raises his eyes to meet yours, straightforwardness and sincerity taking you by surprise as he asks, “are you single?”</p>
<p>You blink. Mutt’s phalanges stop stroking your back as they sink into the folds of the sweater. You don’t have to look back at him to sense his sourness. Stretch shuffles somewhat but anticipates your response with an open expression. You don’t leave him in suspense long, though you can’t resist teasing, “Why do you ask? Did you remember we were lovers in a past life?” At his resurgence of sheepishness, you put him out of his misery, informing, “Yeah, I’m single.”</p>
<p>You pat the shoulder of the skeleton shooting daggers at Stretch with his glower, continuing, “This angry arm candy right here is my fuck buddy.”</p>
<p>Mutt’s skull snaps to you with a mixture of his emotions flooding the fringes of your awareness. You’re not sure if he’s flattered by being called ‘arm candy’ or if it’s your public ownership of your unconventional relationship but there’s a notable thread of pride interwoven with the irritation he’s experiencing.</p>
<p>The feelings on the other’s faces are equally perplexing as you attempt to decipher their amalgamation of relief and dismay. At your proclamation of the word ‘fuck’, Blueberry shields Stretch’s earholes with his hands, complaining, “Isn’t There A More <em>Appropriate</em> Term You Could Use, Y/N?”</p>
<p>You grin impishly, pretending to reflect on your manners before admitting, “You’re right. I think Mutt’s more of a fuck bestie.”</p>
<p>Blue’s browbones threaten to fly from his skull as he yelps with disapproval, his younger brother batting off his hold on Stretch’s head. Mutt merely chuckles, throwing an arm over your shoulder and bragging, “fucking <em>besties</em>.”</p>
<p>You’d be worried that claiming Mutt as your best friend (fucking or otherwise) in front of two of your other friends might upset them. Then you remember you’re not in elementary school. No grown up is losing sleep over who’s besties with who, right? Satisfied that the skeletons are well-equipped to handle Wuffie on their own, you pass her over to Blue and say your goodbyes. Mutt haphazardly tosses some clothes and cash into a duffel and throws it over his back. Once his leash is clipped onto his collar and the end is secured in your hold, it’s time. Venico, here you come!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next up, vacation! Relaxing! Bond explaining? Smut?!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Chapter 26</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Here there be smut. Hope you enjoy the chapter, lovelies. Stay safe!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Your first look of the foreign city is a room cramped with vending machines. You can hear their hum and the droning of a large ice dispenser behind you. The air smells like fresh laundry and chlorine. The combination is so iconically evocative of a hotel’s chemical cocktail that you confirm, “Is this our themed hotel?” Mutt nods, rummaging through his coat pockets. “The only theme I’m seeing so far is shitty wallpaper.”</p><p>“harsh,” he jests. “’s a lot ritzier in the entrance and suites, but i figure droppin’ somewhere like this will put less eyes on us.”</p><p>“Hey, no complaints here,” you shrug, looking around. You inspect the soda machine and find that your favorite brand is absent. Guess it’s not as popular in this neck of the woods. Most of the flavors are unfamiliar. You’ll have to give that ‘Dragonfruit Gut-punch’ one a try sometime. You turn to Mutt as you feel a tug on the end of the leash. He’s pulling on a scarf mask. One with fake skeletal teeth, right over his own. He then unfolds a pair of sunglasses, affixes a strap to the tips, and secures them over his sockets. You merely watch in perplexity. He looks marginally less ridiculous once his hood is flipped up, but the strain of his cheekbones against the fabric jaws is giving you some uncanny valley vibes. “Oh my...never mind, now I’m complaining. What are you wearing?”</p><p>“’s my disguise,” he offers.</p><p>“Are you a wanted man?” you tease, fully understanding the practically of a monster disguising their different-ness to avoid obnoxious attention. Especially outside of Ebott, where humans are unused to seeing them outside of the internet.</p><p>“well, <em>you</em> want me, don’t’cha, darlin’?”</p><p>“That’s true,” you admit as he backs you against the paisley wallpaper, “Though I was hoping we’d make it to our room first.”</p><p>“i dunno, that’s askin’ a lot. awfully long wait.” His eyelights peer down at you from over the rim of his sunglasses. The sunglasses that he’s wearing inside, like a doofus. One of his arms rests on the wall to the side of your head. The other hand taps his covered chin, speculating, “could convince me with a kiss?”</p><p>He points at that dumb mask of his, expectantly. You can’t take him seriously like this. You lose it, cracking up, “Hah, why would I do that? Fake-ass skull doesn’t even look like yours. No cool teeth or anything,” you slide the mask down to his cervical vertebrae, revealing his lipless yet lovable mouth and tracing it with a fingertip. “Much better.”</p><p>With his back bent you don’t need to stand on your tip-toes to reach. You tilt your neck and manage a chaste peck. Unusual, as Mutt would normally be tongue wrestling you breathless about now. Instead he tugs the fabric back up to his eyes, cloaking the blood-orange blush beneath it. Your adorable dork. You take the hand holding his leash and wrap it around his hip beneath his coat, so you have some semblance of subtlety while you wander through the deserted hallways and into an elevator.</p><p>It takes you to the lobby, where the hotel’s unique design really starts to shine. The walls and flooring are white but decor makes the place vibrantly colorful. There’s a water feature in the center of the wide open space with light-up lily pads. Above are hanging lights of all different shapes and sizes. They aren’t as classy as standard crystal chandeliers, but their artistic whimsy does a lot to cheer the place up. You snag a pamphlet from the front desk so you can pick which room to go for. There’s a few appealing options. The Pirate Ship, An Enchanted Forest. The Lover’s Retreat has a soul-shaped bed that Mutt is scandalized by, but your heart is set on the Sci-fi Suite.</p><p>“Oh yeah. We’re screwing on the spaceship bed tonight,” you joke, while being entirely serious.</p><p>Mutt seems to like the idea. “i’m sure you’ll be seein’ stars,” he adds, then winces, “but about that screwin’ business…”</p><p>You look up from the pamphlet in surprise when you sense his hesitation. He’s rubbing the back of his neck. Is the perpetual horndog, by some miracle, denying a chance to have sex? Guess all it took to put him off the mood was losing control of his own mortality. Huh. You’re perfectly alright with keeping things non-physical, if that’s what he’s comfortable with, though that doesn’t keep you from being concerned by his uncharacteristic behavior. “Who are you and what have you done with my Mutt? Haven’t left earth yet and already we’re getting alien impostors.”</p><p>He leans in to murmur, “you’re still getting off tonight and it’ll be outta this world. ‘s just the bond means my magic can’t touch ya without makin’ things more complicated.”</p><p>What does ‘complicated’ mean in that context, you wonder? You shrug and suggest, “Let’s talk about it in private once we’re settled in.” You return to the front desk to register for a room. Fortunately, the type you wanted is available. Mutt hands a stack of local currency to the concierge. She counts it out and holds a bill to the light to check its authenticity. You can’t blame her for being skeptical, the only time you’ve seen a bunch of cash with a rubber band like that is in the movies.</p><p>Equipped with a magnetic room key, you head to the sixth floor where the hallways are carpeted with kooky star trek looking stripes. How enterprising of them. You’re excited when you unlock the door and step into the suite. It’s spacious in more ways than one. The walls and ceiling are starry. Not just white dots either, nebulas, galaxies, black holes, the whole big shebang. You park your luggage in the closet and explore. You find that the shower is painted to look like a satellite and the mirrors over the sink have a kitschy-cute row of colored lights around them. The bidet has some serious sci-fi buttons and switches but that could just be because you’re unfamiliar.</p><p>There’s a lounge area with futuristic furniture and a mini fridge full of all sorts of goodness. You run towards the bed and leap onto it. It’s comfy as hell. The bedframe is huge and shaped like a fictional space ship. The pillows are puffy planets and stars. You hug one to your chest as you roll on your back, sighing happily. You take a moment to absorb the awesomeness, staring at the stars on the ceiling as you spread your arms. You feel the mattress shift as Mutt sits at your side. You sit up and cross your legs.</p><p>“Before we can join the million mile high club, we’ve got to talk.” He strips his disguise and acknowledges you with an ‘mhm’ as he undoes the laces on his shoes. “So...the bond.”</p><p>Mutt tugs off his boots and swivels to mirror your position, cross-legged and facing you. “the bond,” he repeats helpfully.</p><p>You shake your head, “It’s funny. A lot of humans, especially the kind in friends with benefits type relationships like we have, joke about feelings like they’re some kind of STD. But you literally sexually transmitted feelings to me.”</p><p>He chuckles humorlessly, “yeah.” The dread you’d detected from him earlier is creeping back. Not as intense as at the apartment, yet enough to remind you how uncomfortable he is with having this conversation.</p><p>You voice your main concern, “Is it permanent? Am I going to be connected with you fifty years down the line when we may not even speak to each other anymore?” There’s a flicker of fear from him and you instinctively reach for his hand to squeeze it. “Not saying we won’t be friends forever and all that, just worried about when I’m an old woman and I slip down the stairs or something, dusting you. Black would kill me if that happened. I’d be <em>double</em> dead.”</p><p>The attempt to lighten his mood fails. On second thought, that subject matter and timing could’ve been better, considering. Mutt doesn’t look away from your joined hands as he mumbles, “no. ‘s not permanent.”</p><p>That’s a relief. “How long does it last?”</p><p>“depends.”</p><p>You resist the urge to roll your eyes. He’s really dragging his feet on this. “What does it depend <em>on</em>?”</p><p>Mutt unfolds his legs onto the floor and flattens his back onto the bed. After a long pause, he replies, “lot o’ things. what i mentioned earlier, about my magic makin’ things complicated...i meant it’d strengthen the bond. the stronger the bond the longer it’ll last. tha’s a lifetime, in some cases.”</p><p>“Us having sex would make the bond stronger,” you surmise. “Why? How does that work?”</p><p>“exchanging magic is why. more of each other we’ve got inside our souls, the stronger the connection is. any substance nonnative to the soul will sorta fade away, ‘less it gets replaced. since bonds are supposed to cement stuff, keep compatibility or whatever, the magic already there’ll be magnetic. whenever a manifestation of my magic touches your body, especially the inside of it, there’s a risk some of it’ll get pulled towards the bit tha’s already in your soul.”</p><p>“So…your magic is the sperm and my soul is the egg. Not all the swimmers will make it, but since it’s likely that at least one will, unprotected sex is a no go.”</p><p>Mutt lifts himself up and blinks at you blankly. He pokes your stomach and snickers, “humans are so weird. there really eggs in there?”</p><p>“Yes. Little itty bitty ones. You’re the weird one, with this soul stuff! I get how the bond propagates itself but how did it start? And how does it work on my side of things, since I don’t have magic?”</p><p>He flops back down and the mattress bounces. “i dunno. never seen a human-monster bond before.”</p><p>“Hm.” That’s not great. You’ll have to track down an expert at some point so you can get the full picture. “Guess I have just one more question, then.”</p><p>“mm?”</p><p>“Can your magic pass through, say, a thin barrier of latex?”</p><p>Clearly confused, he lifts his head a bit to wonder at you, explaining, “uh, no? It can pass through organs and tissues because it all connects to your soul. Latex, clothing, plastic, ‘n all that would block it.”</p><p>You giggle and crawl until you’re on all fours directly over him. “Then I’ve got great news. You taught me about the bond, now it’s my turn to teach you about a little thing called condoms.”</p><p>Mutt is greatly spirited this information. Once you’ve repeated all you can recollect from your sex-ed class, he’s ready for a demonstration. You change into a breezy outfit ideal for a walk in warm weather and Mutt puts his disguise back on. Together you stroll the streets of Venico, searching for a sex shop or convenience store, whichever you find first.</p><p>It’s nighttime in this part of the world. The antique gas streetlights are lit, sending warm, complex shadows onto the cobblestone through their colored and textured glass. This city is pedestrian friendly. Cars are directed away from the walkways, allowing a nearby restaurant to host live music without competing with a cacophony of engines and brakes. The string quartet plays a romantic melody for its audience outdoors. Each table hosts two or more humans, chattering lightly or simply taking it all in as they feast on the famously decadent cuisine. You coo at a couple who’s feeding each other bites of cake as their candle centerpiece flickers with every gusty breath or coquettish laugh. “Aw, look!” you nod your head towards them, elbowing Mutt and suggesting, “Should we stop by, share something sweet?”</p><p>“already got a sweet lil snack, right ‘ere.” He squeezes your hand in his. His strides are swift and purposeful. You daresay there’s a skip in his step as he single-mindedly scans the signs above each store.</p><p>“Slow down!” you request, having trouble keeping up with those long legs of his. You hadn’t expected Mutt of all monsters to not know how to take it easy on vacation. “There’s no need to rush. Let’s enjoy the scenery.” The street curves toward a section of town teeming with historical buildings. It’s an anachronistic gamut of design; not a single cookie-cutter style to be seen as each storefront has an old-fashioned flair of geometric ornamentation or ornate paneled windows.</p><p>Instead of changing pace he scoops you up, seating you on a shoulder and steadying you with an arm around your thighs. “there. ‘ow’s the view?”</p><p>You sway uncertainly before securing yourself with a handful of floof from the top of his hooded skull. The view is actually quite improved. The vantage point gained from combining Mutt’s height with half of yours does well to allow you perspective over the other people wandering the city, and now you don’t need to divert attention to preventing a toe from catching on those cobblestones. You smile from your perch, head swerving to take in the sights, “It’s lovely, thank you.”</p><p>You stay like that for a while, admiring the night’s muted energy, until you spot a sign that looks promising. You point to a building down the road. “Look! Let’s try there.”</p><p>Mutt sets you down outside the entrance. There’s a traditional chime as you push open the door into the cozy shop. The majority of the merchandise is marketed towards tourists: t-shirts with decals of ‘I &lt;3 Venico’ or a collage of the city’s most recognizable landmarks. Once you walk by the novelty shot glasses you encounter an elderly employee.</p><p>Mutt catches the man’s attention, “hey. do you got any of those…” his sockets scrunch as he wonders, “what were they called again?”</p><p>The man’s stare is less than surreptitious and you self-consciously contemplate what’s wrong until realizing that Mutt’s leash is openly hanging around your wrist. You join your hands, hiding them behind your back. Glad that your friend is taking initiative, but embarrassed by his bluntness, you harshly whisper, “<em>Condoms</em>.”</p><p>“right. you got any condoms?”</p><p>The old guy throws his hands in the air and spouts aggressive sounding complaints in one of the local languages while walking to the register. “Uh,” you chew the inside of your cheek. Maybe you should just leave? You take a step backwards but the employee waves you over.</p><p>“Not here. I’ll show you. Come, come.” The man waves you over to a back office where he retrieves a pen and notebook, scribbling on it using blank wall as a hard surface. “You see the fountain and go south. See the river, you’ve gone to far. Between a pub and a jeweler’s.” He rips off the page he’d written on and hands it to you, directing you to the door, “Go on!” As you leave he swears and by the spirit of it you suspect it translates to, “god damn tourists. Fucking hell.”</p><p>The door clinks closed behind you. Squinting at the small handwriting on the page you’d been given, you make out the name and address of a ‘Rompin’ Romero’s Pleasure Emporium’. “Well, he sure was helpful, if not the most polite,” you summarize, laughing a little under your breath.</p><p>Mutt plucks the paper from your hand and reads it thoughtfully. “’s a little ways away. You wanna walk, or catch a ride?”</p><p>You decide to flag down a rickshaw. You hand the cyclist who’ll be pulling it the address and climb aboard. With both you and Mutt inside, it’s cozy, and you snuggle as the open carriage allows the evening breeze to give you goosebumps. He rests his head on yours, nodding off. You photograph the beautiful buildings that pass by to show him and his cousins later. You reach your destination, pay the person who got you there, and proceed to the ‘Pleasure Emporium’. It’s a three-story sex shop. The inside is stuffed with shelves and shelves of pornography, lingerie, and every sex toy imaginable. There’s no where for your eyes to land that isn’t occupied by obscenity. Mutt makes himself at home, flicking every dildo he walks past.</p><p>The selection is extensive. There’s ribbed condoms, flavored ones, the kind that glows in the dark or under a black light. “Which kind do you want?” you ask him, watching him pick up and investigate a multi pack.</p><p>“no idea. what are these?”</p><p>“Those are dental dams, made out of the same stuff as condoms. They’re for safe oral sex.” He grabs a few boxes and gets a good variety of large condoms. You look around for the front desk and find comfort in the fact that the cashier isn’t staring, or even looking in your direction. You’re sure she’s seen things much stranger than you can imagine, working in a place like this for a while. You step towards her but Mutt pulls you the other way. He isn’t done shopping just yet. He weaves towards the clothing section and starts eyeing the garters and stockings.</p><p>He hangs a pair of crotchless panties off a phalange and holds them up to you, questioning, “would ya wear these if i asked nicely?”</p><p>“If you want,” you smile and tap the corner of your lips with your pointer finger, negotiating, “But I’d like to pick something for you to wear as well.”</p><p>He agrees wholeheartedly. You part paths to pick out outfits for tonight. You speculate on what to get for him. They don’t make much lingerie for men and most clothes wouldn’t fit or flatter his bony body regardless. They have cheap costumes here, designed for roleplay. That could be fun, however, you’re not interested in Mutt pretending to be someone or something else at this point in your sexual relationship. When you spy a black body harness, complete with a collar and plenty of o-rings to attach a leash to, you’ve made your decision. You show it to him and he approves, undercurrents of an odd longing resonating from him in your mind. What he’s picked out for you stays hidden in a growing pile in his arms, the size of which is surprising since so much of these clothes have hardly any fabric. You check out and as soon as you’re back on the street Mutt shortcuts to your hotel room.</p><p>Head still whirling from the sudden scene change, you’re lifted onto the edge of the bed, your legs separated by a skeleton. He stands between them and leans forward until you’re pinned to the mattress. His anticipation can be clearly felt through your clothing. You’re about to tease him for the boner when he tenderly bumps his forehead into yours, his sockets closing as he mumbles, “wish i could kiss you.”</p><p>“We can still kiss,” you insist reassuringly, wrapping your legs around his waist and stroking his cheekbone, pressing your lips to his teeth firmly.</p><p>“not the way i want to,” he exhales and reopens his sockets when you pull away. “i wanna kiss you so deep that yer swallowing my spit. i want my tongue to get so tangled up with yours that we can’t tell who’s is who’s. and more ‘n anything, i wanna taste you.”</p><p>You share his dissatisfaction, sighing, “I know. I want those things too. I’m really going to miss the touch of that tongue of yours. How long until the bond fades and we get back to normal?”</p><p>“bout three months.”</p><p>“That’s not too bad. Three months will be over before we know it. Just think about how nice it’ll be to kiss and fuck without worrying.”</p><p>“i am thinkin’ about it. can’t ya tell?” he bucks his hips into yours, making that stiff magic in his pants ever more obvious as you feel it grinding into your core through your thin pants.</p><p>“Haah,” you half moan, half huff in amusement, “I can tell the anticipation is getting to you. Let’s not focus on what we can’t do. There’s plenty that we can still enjoy, with the help of some human contraception. How about you let me up and we can get ready for what we have planned tonight?”</p><p>He reluctantly rolls off of you. You ask what he wants you to wear but he just floats the entire shopping bag into your arms and says ‘surprise me’. You shut yourself into the bathroom and strip. You smile at how uniquely bizarre it feels to get naked in a place that looks like the set of a movie. Or the inside of a theme park, at least. You freshen up and sift through your selection. You find several matching sets of garter belts, crotchless panties, and all sorts of stockings. Striped, netted, the sort with cute little symbols all over them. Most surprising is the last pair. You never knew your fuck bestie was into lace. There’s a lovely set of white lacey stockings with delicate flowery designs all up and down the seams. You pull them on after the panties, careful not to tear any holes in the fragile fabric, but you doubt Mutt will have the same reservations so you don’t worry about their welfare too much. You search the bag for a matching bra, but there isn’t one. The sole option for covering your top half is a colorless chemise that’s sheer everywhere except the cups and the short skirt’s hem. Once the ensemble is complete you admire yourself in the mirror. You snicker at the image that meets you. Not because you look bad, far from it, but because you look like a time traveling bride who’d been beamed up to the bridge of a spaceship in the middle of her wedding night.</p><p>Mutt hears your giggle and knocks on the door, grumbling, “wha’s the hold up? you’re not havin’ fun in there without me, are ya?”</p><p>You grin mischievously as you sense his impatience. “One moment~” You take your time, turning this way and that, checking each angle. You love making him wait. He’s so selfish and impulsive sometimes that you can’t help delaying his gratification. His reward is how worked up you get when his desperation peaks, his best behavior beginning to slip like it did last night, ripping your panties off and giving you an excuse to punish him, to make him wait all over again. But you don’t want him at that point just yet. You need to help him get a condom on first.</p><p>You slip out the door, seeing Mutt naked except for the leather harness you’d given him. It suits him, adding a layer of straps perpendicular to his ribs and around his collarbone and arms. His eyelights expand as he takes you in. You back him into the bed and instruct him to lay with his back against the headboard as you peel a condom out of its package.</p><p>“You should always inspect it first,” you explain as you turn it over in your hands, “No holes or defects. This one is good.” You bring it with you to straddle his legs. His shaft stands at attention and you have Mutt hold its base steady while you carefully roll it down his length. Once he’s covered, you stroke him experimentally. You inhale in surprise. Were you imagining that sensation? You squeeze, drawing a groan from him, and you decide, no, that’s definitely not your imagination. You can feel part of his pleasure. You’d nearly forgotten that was part of the deal. Damn. You’re already dripping through the opening in the crotchless panties.</p><p>“’s slightly less sensitive an’ i can’t feel your intent, which is expected, but it should work. whadda ya say? ready to take a ride on my rocket?”</p><p>You smile and snidely say, “Only as long as you don’t say ‘blast off’ when you cum.”</p><p>“no promises,” he snarks back.</p><p>“Then I’ve just found the perfect occasion to introduce my pet to a new toy. Stay right there,” you shuffle from the bed and sprint over to your bag to where you’d stashed a bone-gag. The ‘bone’ part looks like a classic cartoonish dog bone, and the gag portion matches the black leather of his harness. It’d been too fitting. Besides, you knew your Mutt would need one at some point. Now is as good a time as any to try it out. You show it to him and squish the bone a bit, relieved when it doesn’t squeak like the chew toy that it very much resembles. “Is this okay with you?”</p><p>He takes it from you and affirms, “’s a good idea. it’d keep me from licking ya or accidentally bitin’ down in the heat o’ the moment. less risk this way.”</p><p>“Alright. If you want me to take it off or to stop for any reason, let me know with three taps to the arm.”</p><p>“affirmative, mistress.” You’re going to miss that seductive low voice of his. Once those golden fangs are biting into the bone and the strap is secured around his skull, you conclude it’s worth it. You hover above his lap, drunk on the power you have over him right now. He’d been in control last time, in his own out-of-control way, and you’re eager to turn things around, show him what you’ve got up your sleeve. You lubricate your fingers with the juices leaking from your pussy and slide them down his cock, encircling him just above the base of the condom, wary of touching the ring of exposed red-orange magic below it. He undoes the button keeping your chemise closed and cups your breasts, the firm flesh bubbling up between the indentations of his fingers.</p><p>You align your entrance with his tip. You tease, dropping your hips at a backwards angle and letting his shaft slip up and away from you walls, spreading slick up your clit and to the hem of your undies. Mutt’s body jerks beneath you and he whines muffledly. He pinches your nipples in retribution. You knead his member as raise yourself back up, your other hand clasping his collarbone for stability. This time when you drop, you impale yourself, inch by inch, with his lengthy magic. Mutt’s sharp phalanges move to dig into your hips. You hold your breath as your walls part, panting as you pause to meet his gaze, absorbing the additional pleasure from his end. All of it...it’s a lot. The feeling of being filled and of stabbing into you, together, intertwined, the feedback recursively sending and sharing the sensations…</p><p>You break eye contact to look down and <em>damn</em>. He’s not even all the way in yet. What you’d learned to expect from last time is a size that’d survivably stretched your insides until the audacious length of him threatened to bust your cervix in. Now that your sensitivity has functionally doubled, you’re going to have to take care not to overstimulate yourself. You bob upward, giving yourself a chance to relax and recover, before plunging until all you can see is his pelvis. Your grip on his collarbone tightens until your knuckles become bloodless.</p><p>“Oh my god, Mutt. I don’t think I can—” you mutter helplessly, your head hanging towards your chest as you can’t bare to consider moving, it’s already so much. “Please, can you…?”</p><p>He understands your incomplete plea and uses his grip on your hips to move on your behalf, lifting your body and lowering it back down. You yip, neck and back straightening as you meet his hungry stare head on. He looks equally wrecked but manages to set a slow rhythm, sheathing himself again and again. You bend into him, mouth attaching itself the neck bones beneath his collar, biting and then kissing, suckling and then sweeping up to his jaw, planting needy kisses there until you can hardly support yourself.</p><p>You’re overwhelmed, buckled almost entirely into his chest. Your breasts rub harshly against his ribs and harness with each thrust. With each instance of your weight dropping onto his member you can feel his orgasm building, can feel yourself tensing, and to be honest you can no longer discern the difference. Mutt moans into the gag. His bite snaps the bone in half as you both become undone. He spits it to the side and swears, “holy fuck, stars above, for the love of—ah…haaah… ” Your pussy pulses as his magic explodes into the containment of the condom.</p><p>Your head rests in the crevice of his shoulder. You nuzzle his neck, hands relaxing their death grip on his ribs to soothingly stroke them. “That was incredible.”</p><p>“sorry about the gag. i’ll buy ya another one.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” you decree, peeling away from his torso to plant a wet peck to his mouth. His teeth part as if to reciprocate but quickly snaps shut as he comes to his senses. You gradually become aware of the bulge that’s growing at the base of his cock, bottomed out inside you. It’s <em>that</em> again. His ‘knot’, he’d called it. You have a love/hate relationship with the thing. When it’s static, swollen against your g-spot and applying a pleasurable pleasure to your insides while Mutt fingers your clit, you love it. When it moves, its overinflated size stings with the slightest movement of your hips and it <em>sucks</em>. You decide not to change positions and risk the potential pain, accepting that you’ll get weird indentations on your skin from where you’re resting against Mutt’s hard bones. He cradles your head, gently stroking your hair as the two of you recover in comforting quiet.</p><p>Until Mutt jolts beneath you, his shock waking up your mind enough to realize that the inside of your vagina is a little wetter than it should be. Almost like when he’d creamed without a condom on. You blink and gingerly sit up without shifting the shaft within you, checking if your entrance is dripping any colorful fluids, but the knot locks it all inside.</p><p>He inquires anxiously, “are condoms supposed to snap like that?”</p><p>“<em>Fuck</em>. They definitely aren’t. Did it break?!”</p><p>“i think so,” he states tensely.</p><p>“Shit, I should’ve known to get a size up for that damn knot of yours! What do we do?!”</p><p>“i have to pull out,” his sharp fingertips poke firmly into the flesh of your waist. “have to get it out before my magic reaches your soul,” his tone is troubled and you sympathize with him until he starts trying to separate.</p><p>He lifts your torso from his shaft, causing an indescribable sensation. The bulbous knot threatens to tear your entrance as Mutt attempts to force it out. It hurts. It <em>really fucking hurts</em> and your hands instantly fly to his to pry him off, begging, “Ow! Stop it, STOP!” The pain wasn’t what made the experience strange. It’s that there’s something else accompanying it. From his end, having the sensitive knot squeezed by your reluctant walls as it’s escaping causes immense pleasure. It mixes with your physical harm to create an intense and disorienting combination. Tears spill down your frightened face. Mutt halts as soon as he hears your cries and as he stops applying force the knot slides back to the spot where it originally sat, making you moan with the aftershocks of agony and arousal.</p><p>Your muscles are weak and shaky, unable to support yourself. He notices this and before you can fall he lowers you backwards and lays over you, his hands on either side of your head. “fuck, i’m sorry. i guess it’s stayin’ in.” If you weren’t distracted assessing the ache of your lower body you’d notice the way Mutt’s tongue slips out to trace his fangs as his shadowed skull takes on a frenzied expression. “’s gonna spread to your soul… gonna stay there…haah…that’s it then—we’re stuck together.”</p><p>He lowers himself onto his elbows, face so close to yours that all you can see are his sockets and their blurry pair of stars. As he’s adjusting his position, he disturbs the knot in the opposite direction. He pistons his cock, burying it deeper inside, despite there being no room left. You cry as renewed anguish cuts into your core. He shushes you, “shhhh, an accident. sorry. ‘s okay. i know better now. course it hurts to come apart. so why do it? <em>we</em> <em>won’t</em>.”</p><p>Mutt licks the tears from your face. You can taste the salt on his tongue as he invades your slack mouth with greedy enthusiasm. The kiss doesn’t end until you shove him away, protesting, “What are you doing? I thought you didn’t want the bond!”</p><p>“what i want...” his skull dips to your ear where his teeth graze its outer edge. “is you. who cares if we dust each other? no one else matters.”</p><p>“You don’t mean that.” You’re confused. Where is this coming from, asking ‘who cares?’ <em>h</em><em>e</em> cares, doesn’t he? At least, he cared before he came. The sex was amazing but you doubt it could be <em>that</em> transformative. “What about your brother? He matters to you, doesn’t he?”</p><p>“m’lord will keep you safe. he’ll heal you, so don’t worry. ‘s okay. just...stay. please stay...” He tilts his head and clamps his mouth down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You gasp as his sharp fangs poke but don't quite puncture the skin. His tongue lavishes the captured flesh. As you lay there, his weight bearing down on you and his teeth and cock embedded in you...you wonder why he'd ask that. It's not as if you have any other option.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>RIP bone gag. It didn’t last long and neither did Mutt’s decision to let the bond dissolve.<br/>No crimes yet but don't worry, there's still time XD</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Chapter 27</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s been a busy day for Black. He’s lost count of how many piles and piles of paperwork he’s pushed through, the endless emails he’s received and responded to. All without assistance from the Mutt. No, not the Mutt anymore, he chides himself. Papyrus. Black resolved to address his brother more respectfully and, at least in private, can employ the proper name. Papyrus has been preoccupying a significant portion of his mental processing power today. The interruption of his work day with his brother’s announcement of the bonding necessitated an immediate restructuring of his plans.</p>
<p>Perhaps calling them plans at all would be a misnomer. Watching and waiting to see if Papyrus’ respite from rising LV lasts, if his sobriety sticks? Observing and adjusting his own behavior to minimize the risk of agitating his brother’s worse instincts? Agonizing. Hardly an undertaking fitting for a monster of his ample talents.</p>
<p>Arriving home from his Guard duties, Black can focus on finalizing his strategy towards this unexpected development. He prepares himself a solitary meal which he eats in his room. He hovers over his desk where papers with outdated projections and plans litter its dark surface. They are promptly discarded. He first addresses the problem with the most urgency—Axe. He was at your dwelling last night and is likely responsible for your missing dogsitter. The thought of that violent and unhinged monster having unchecked access to your home…what he could have done…it makes Black’s marrow boil. Axe’s very presence is a threat to you and the beast. Black must ensure that he returns that threat with one of his own so that the ingrate will no longer be allowed to jeopardize your safety.</p>
<p>That much of his scheme is simple. He is responsible for his brother’s welfare and that of his bonded, by extension. You’re part of his family now. He’s anticipating some…reluctance…to how he’ll be revising his role in your life. With the severity of the stakes, there will be little room to maneuver around how you react. Certain measures must be taken to ensure you’re not entirely vulnerable. You will train with him until your self-defense skills are sufficient. Black does doubt how much training can make a difference, considering the abilities of his brother’s alternates. If he can give you the slightest edge against your enemies it will be worth it. Besides, every hour spent with you will be valuable in itself—the opportunity to assess your health, a break from worrying, the chance to—</p>
<p>A knock. Black frowns at his bedroom door. Who dares disturb him? He demands, “Who’s There?”</p>
<p>“it’s me, m’lord.” Black answers the door before he can stress about why Papyrus would return from his trip prematurely. He steps inside with you in a bridal carry. He closes the door behind him with a kick. His chin is lowered as he requests, “need a favor. fucked up and y/n here could use some healin.”</p>
<p>“What Did You Do?” Black seethes, scanning you for scratches or stab wounds. To his immediate relief, there is no blood or visible injury. You are withdrawn, however, and wince when Papyrus sets you down.</p>
<p>You defend from your seat on his bed, “It was an accident. I’d prefer to leave it at that.”</p>
<p>An accident. Just like the bond was an accident. How <em>convenient</em>. Black glares critically at his younger brother. This could easily be an excuse to avoid accountability for his actions and Black isn’t buying it. “Brother, Give Us Some Privacy. How About You Amend For Your Absence By Taking Care Of That <em>Business</em> We Discussed Earlier.”</p>
<p>Papyrus appears to glean his meaning. He nods, vision flicking over you a few more times before he blips away. Black shakes his skull and begins to pace. He crosses the length of his room several times over and schools his expression into a calm, clinical glower. He swivels to stand before you, confirming, “He Hurt You?”</p>
<p>“Not on purpose,” you answer half-heartedly.</p>
<p>Black grits his teeth. Ignoring the accuracy of that statement for the time being, he presses, “Where?”</p>
<p>You chew your lip and avert your eyes, palms smoothing over his bedspread. Reluctantly, one of your hands lifts to hover over your lower body and between your legs. “Here. Please say you don’t need to touch me to heal it.” You sound exhausted. “You can do it indirectly, like when we first met, right?”</p>
<p>An <em>intimate</em> injury…Black blusters and folds his arms. <em>Damn It, Mutt!</em> Not twenty-four hours into being bonded and he’s letting his LV get the best of him. And in the bedroom of all places! If Papyrus is truly so careless, that makes a certain part of Black’s plan all the more important. He huffs, “Yes, I Can Heal You Through Your Soul Instead. It Will Be Slower And May Put You To Sleep, As It Did Before.”</p>
<p>You mull on this, brows creasing. “Can healing magic stay in someone’s soul or strengthen a bond like other kinds do? It isn’t sexual, to heal someone’s soul, is it?”</p>
<p>The fingers against his temple flatten into a palm, its heel grinding into the bone above his sockets. His brother has obviously been lax in his explanations. His lackadaisical ignorance is infectious. “I Will Answer All Of Your Questions And Explain In Detail What Soul Touching Means In Various Contexts.”</p>
<p>“You will?” You straighten, one brow quirked in skepticism. “What’s the catch?”</p>
<p>Black’s hands join behind his back, his ribcage puffing out. “There Are Two Conditions: You Will First Allow Me To Amend The Harm My Brother Has Caused You. Afterwards, We Will Have This Conversation In A More Appropriate Setting, Over Dinner.”</p>
<p>“…” you stare. “I guess that’s okay?”</p>
<p>“Good.” There’s an awkward pause as you both dally around what needs to be done.</p>
<p>You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and instruct, “Close your eyes. I’ll guide your hand to where you need to heal me. Then we leave.”</p>
<p>“This Is Satisfactory.” His words are stilted. He takes a seat beside you and closes his sockets. He stiffly offers his hand, excruciatingly conscious of where’s its led, how it senses the heat radiating from the clothed flesh that he’s not quite touching. His bones press against fabric and into the warm skin beneath. He inhales through his teeth. The healing magic stutters forth from his fingers. He hears the relief in your breath.</p>
<p>“I’d tell you to ask a lady to dinner first, but you already have.” He guffaws, grinding his jaw as he’s blindly brought down a curve where the heat intensifies. “Why do you want that, anyway? It’s not like we’re long-lost pals who need to catch up.”</p>
<p>“Nevertheless, There Is Much We Need To Discuss. I Simply Think That The Proper Place For That Discussion Is Elsewhere.”</p>
<p>You affirm that this ‘proper place’ will be a public one. He declares his intention to bring you to his usual lunch locale, a reputable restaurant renowned for its high-class cuisine. You insist that you’re under dressed and the food there is overpriced, pretentious. All the while, you’re moving his hand to and fro over the front of your thin pants. It doesn’t take long for his impatience to peak. He contends that if you’re so damn concerned with the price then he’ll pay for it. And if you don’t believe your current clothes to be suitable, then you will stop by the tailor’s beforehand and equip yourself with something appropriate. When you express an unwillingness at buying a new outfit for a dinner that could just as easily be had at a subpar establishment, Black snappily insists that he will not be lowering his standards for any reason and that he will be purchasing the clothes as well, so <em>shut up</em>.</p>
<p>That silences you for a time. When at last your injuries are soothed, he separates with a reddened face. He texts Papyrus his plans and pulls on his crimson wool coat. You break from your thoughts to poke fun at his fashion choices, the cape that covers one shoulder. He grumbles about style and intimidation. It falls on deaf ears. He walks you to his car and beats you to the passenger door, holding it open. You stand, dumbstruck.</p>
<p>He taps his foot. “We Don’t Have All Night! What Are You Waiting For?”</p>
<p>You snap out of your daze, slumping into the seat, muttering, “For hell to freeze over. Seems about as likely as you opening the door for me.” Black shuts you in and slips into the driver’s side. As he adjusts the mirrors your disbelief comes to a head. “You’re acting strange. You haven’t insulted me all day. It’s suspicious. Seriously, what’s all this about?”</p>
<p>He hums in amusement. “I Seek Your Cooperation.”</p>
<p>You’re not yet placated, prompting, “Cooperation with what?”</p>
<p>“The Evening,” he shrugs, placing an arm on the back of your seat as he reverses out of the garage. “We Will Eat, Enjoy Ourselves. I Will Explain The Intricacies of Monster Culture Surrounding Souls And Afterwards…It Is My Wish That We Will Come To An Agreement.”</p>
<p>You scoff. “Then I’ll warn you—I’m not feeling all that agreeable. I haven’t forgotten about what you did, what you <em>still</em> haven’t apologized for.”</p>
<p>“I Do Not Expect You To.” Black is untroubled. There are alliances that have started on much worse footing than this. “And I Have Something Better Than An Apology. A Promise. On My Word, I Will Never Hurt You Again, So Long As You Swear To Me One Thing In Return.”</p>
<p>You scrutinize him, hands curled in your lap. “What’s that?”</p>
<p>“Mutt Cannot Know Of My Promise. He Must Believe That I Am Willing To Harm You As A Consequence Of His Bad Behavior.”</p>
<p>“But he’s been doing so well, lately. He’s going to therapy, he’s getting sober. Why would you need to resort to, I mean, why would he need to think that you would still resort to…<em>that</em>?”</p>
<p>Black’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. Papyrus has shown improvements, this much is true. However, how much of that is owed to therapy is in question. They attend family sessions regularly. In all those expensive hours of mediated discussion, he’d not gained enough understanding of the state of his brother’s internal workings to rival a single hour of binge-induced honesty. No, he doesn’t think Papyrus can credit his recent conduct to any human but the one he’s bonded to. Black won’t relinquish the last of his leverage, illusory or otherwise, anytime soon. “Consider It A Security Measure,” he instructs.</p>
<p>You seem to have much to say about that, but swallow your response as Black parks in front of a formal wear boutique. You let yourself out before he can reach you. He follows you into the store and offers opinions on the dresses you peruse until you banish him to the couches outside the dressing area. He sits, resting his chin on his hands. Every so often, his head lifts to evaluate your condition. You’re distracted. It takes an employee’s urging for you to decide on a handful of outfits to try on. Once you’ve retreated into the dressing room, Black’s mind wanders.</p>
<p>He thinks about that phone call. The one that had been dissected so extensively with Dr. Davison that he’s certain they’ve both memorized it. Papyrus had rambled, freed from any and all filters by whatever substances he was on, and in his callousness said things that are painful to recall. Some of it maimed his ego. Lines like, “why bother tryin’ to be intimidatin’ around me? i know i could dust you, if i wanted to. posturin’ won’t change that.”</p>
<p>Then there were statements that had hurt for other reasons. Ones like, “you treat that damn dog better than me. don’t deny it. ever considered wuffie’s not th’ only one who wants to be praised, once ‘n a while?” and “stop making me hate you. that feelin’…i can’t keep it inside. it’s itchy, it spills out. then you punish me and make me hate you even harder. i just want it to stop.”</p>
<p>It’d been hard to hear. Brutal criticism of his decisions, his mannerisms, how he runs his family. His attempts at defensiveness had been met with disarming vulnerability. It was clear Papyrus was coming from a place of desperation. Black couldn’t claim his methods were unerring while his brother practically begged for change. He’d hoped to revisit what they’d discussed that day with Dr. Freeman, but Papyrus never acknowledged it. Black followed suit, uncomfortable with what transpired, yet unable to continue as if it hadn’t happened.</p>
<p>He understands that a certain duplicity is required in their sessions, so that the humans do not suspect them of being from an alternate universe, or believe them to be active threats that would warrant a call to law enforcement. None of this applies at home. It’s frustrating that when Papyrus has a clear mind and a choice to, he closes himself off. He hides himself. He deflects, gives non-answers, or jokes until Black is too infuriated to focus.</p>
<p>Then suddenly opens himself up to a bond. Black is still shocked by his brother’s one-eighty on commitment. He worries about what it means for you, but wants that connection to grow and strengthen. He has hopes that this bond will keep Papyrus stable, while Black keeps you both safe. These hopes weigh heavily on his shoulders as he anticipates tonight’s dinner.</p>
<p>You emerge. Your skirts are silky, split up the side partway up your thigh. Your sleeves, if they could be called that, are loops of fabric that have slipped from your shoulders. The dress is supported by a skin-tight bodice that flatters your figure. Black’s fists furl at his sides as he stands to receive you. He isn’t bothered by this blatant attempt at seduction! His strategy will not be derailed! He rushes you to the register and back to the car, where he can keep his attention on the road and not your clothing. The clothing you’re wearing for him, as you accompany him to dinner. He can’t stop his phalanges from restlessly drumming against the dashboard. When you arrive at the restaurant, your dress slows you down and this time he’s quick enough to open the door for you. A valet takes his keys. He walks with you to the reception desk and waits to be served.</p>
<p>You remark about the sneakers you’re still wearing with the formal gown. He looks down to see the shabby shoes, rather incongruous as they poke from beneath your new dress. He expresses doubt that anyone will notice. Onlooker’s eyes will be elsewhere, like his own. A hostess greets him personally and he orders, “Lead Us To My Table.”</p>
<p>As a regular, the staff here recognize him and serve him with only the slightest hesitation. Your neck arches as you admire the chandeliers and velvet curtains. His private table is on the second story, overlooking the stage which hosts a constant string of soloists and ensemble orchestras. Tonight, there’s a pianist in the spotlight, playing some Neo-classical noise that Black deigns unmemorable but not unpleasant.</p>
<p>Once he’s ordered a glass of monster wine for his nerves and you’ve searched the menu for something you can pronounce, it falls to him to fulfill his end of the bargain. “You’d better start explaining,” you chide. “I have a lot of questions.”</p>
<p>Where to begin… “How Much Has Mutt Told You?”</p>
<p>“The bond allows us experience some of the other’s feelings. It might kill him, if I die.” Black nods, encouraging you to continue your list, “Exchanging magic makes the bond stronger. He couldn’t explain how it worked with humans, but he’d mentioned that it can become strong enough to last a lifetime. I asked how much sex we’d need to have to get to that point and he just said, ‘wanna find out?’”</p>
<p>Black rolls his eyes at your Papyrus impression. That sounds like him all right. “You’ll Have To Excuse My Brother. He Never Demonstrated Any Lasting Interest In Bonding And Thus Is Lacking In Expertise. I Would Answer Your Inquiry But It Is Rooted In A False Assumption. There Are Many More Factors That Influence A Bond’s Strength Than Simply The Volume Of Magic In Your Bonded’s Soul. It Will Be Affected By Proximity, Sensitivity, And Intent As Well.”</p>
<p>“So it’s too complicated to know how long it’ll last exactly. Good to know.” You take a sip of your lemon water. “What do you mean by ‘sensitivity’?”</p>
<p>“I Have Informed You That Humans Are Significantly Less Attuned To Their Souls?”</p>
<p>“You may have mentioned it.”</p>
<p>“As A Result, It Is Likely That The Bond’s Effects Will Be Subtler On Your Side Of Things. But This Is Not About Species Alone. Sensitivity Necessitates Awareness. If You Understand Your Bonded, Focus On Distinguishing Their Emotions From Your Own, You Will Experience The Bond More Intensely.”</p>
<p>“How does intent affect it?”</p>
<p>“Intense Dislike Or Resentment Can Make A Bond Fall Apart Faster. It Makes The Soul A Hostile Environment For Their Bonded’s Magic. The Opposite Is Also True. Love And Friendship Shelter The Bond. Other Intents, The Desire For Secrecy, For Example, Might Not Decay The Connection, But Will Make It Functionally Weaker.”</p>
<p>“I see. What about soul touching? Where does that fit into everything?”</p>
<p>Black checks his surroundings. There are no other monsters around, but the topic is improprietous all the same. He’s glad for his table’s seclusion as he explains, “Healing A Soul Has No Inherently Sexual Implications. It Can Be As Professional As A Medical Examination Or As Intimate An Act As You Can Imagine, Depending On How It Is Performed. Healing Magic, Like Attack Magic, Has No Bearing On The Bond.</p>
<p>“Touching A Soul, With One’s Hand Or M-Mouth,” he coughs, steeling himself, “It Is A Single Step In The Long And Intricate Process Of Forging An Alliance. It Is Done After Both Parties Trust Each Other, And Before Bonding.”</p>
<p>“Mutt really messed up the order then. I still haven’t touched his soul.”</p>
<p>“Hm. I Am Not Surprised. Letting Someone See Into Your Soul Is…” he trails off before describing how deeply revealing and personal it is, assuming that you remember that much from whatever you’d gleaned from his. With how reluctant Papyrus is to share his feelings verbally, it’s no wonder that he wouldn’t want to do it in that way, either.</p>
<p>You shift in your chair. “This whole process. How important is that order? Is it like human culture where the ‘sex, marriage, baby carriage’ thing is more of a tradition than a rule? Does skipping steps matter?”</p>
<p>He straightens as he states his case for his underground’s dating manual. “Of Course The Steps Matter! They Aren’t There For Show! The First Step Is The Conclave, Where People Who Have Interest In Each Other Meet To Discuss Their Intent For The Future. All Follow Up Meetings Are Made To Build Trust Until They Expose Their Souls. It Is At This Step Where The Monsters Can Sense If They Are Compatible.”</p>
<p>“Compatibility…That’s what lets monsters have kids together, yeah?”</p>
<p>“Correct, Though There Is More To It Than That. Compatibility Is How Well You, At Your Core, Can Coexist With Others. Some People Are Compatible With None. Others With Many. It Can Change, As You Do. This Is Why Bonding Is Important. Once You Are Bound, You Will Always Be Compatible. No Matter What Life Brings, How It Shapes You, There Will Always Be Mutual Understanding Through The Bond.”</p>
<p>“That’s kind of beautiful.”</p>
<p>“Indeed.”</p>
<p>A waiter brings your plate. You pick at it, pushing the small portions around with fork, until you sit back and wonder, “So the first step is a ‘conclave’. What’s the last step?”</p>
<p>“Why, Bonding, Obviously.”</p>
<p>You drop your fork. It clatters onto the floor. You dip beneath the tablecloth to retrieve it. It’s a few prolonged moments before you return. You set the dirtied silverware to the side and swallow, confirming, “It’s pretty serious then?”</p>
<p>“I Should Say So!” he responds passionately. Commitment shouldn’t be taken lightly. Especially where his younger brother is concerned. “You Are Aware That Mutt’s Wellbeing Is My Primary Objective. Your Safety Is Inseparable From His And As Such, I Must Insist That You Train With Me In The Art Of Combat. Preferably With The Beast, As Well.”</p>
<p>Your elbows thunk on the table, your cheeks resting in a palm. After a beat for thought, your head rises and you answer, “Fang is teaching me some self-defense techniques through tai-chi. Will that be enough?”</p>
<p>Black huffs indignantly. “Would You Put Your Life, And The Life Of My Brother, In The Hands Of This Training? If I Were To Leap Over This Very Table, Would You Trust That This ‘Tai-Chi’ Could Defend You From Me?”</p>
<p>You frown. This time you use a spoon as you poke the food around your plate. “I’d have to think about it.”</p>
<p>“See That You Do. While We’re On The Subject Of Your Safety, I Will Bring Up Something I Have Mentioned Multiple Times—Your Dwelling. Its Lack Of Security Is Shameful.”</p>
<p>He expects you to contradict him, to come to the meager apartment’s defense, but you don’t. Instead you sigh and sink farther into your chair. “Yeah…”</p>
<p>“We Are Going To Do Something About It. Reinforced Locks, Security Cameras.” He strains his mind for measures that would work against a teleporting monster. “Maybe A Panic Room.”</p>
<p>“Are you footing the bill for all that, too?”</p>
<p>“If You Like.”</p>
<p>You analyze him while taking a bite of your meal. It’s surely cooled by now, but you seem to enjoy it, eyes widening with pleasure. When you’re done chewing, you wipe your lips with the napkin and shrug. “Alright. As long as you don’t go overboard, I accept.”</p>
<p>Black smiles. He takes a long swig of his wine. That business is addressed and concluded. Good. All remains is the tricky part. He dabs his teeth dry and lowers the cloth napkin to his lap. “Earlier…About Soul Touching…” he starts slowly, unsure how to breach this topic. “When We, Well, Made Contact…I Sensed That We Were Compatible.”</p>
<p>You lower the spoon that was about to deliver a bite to your lips. Your unoccupied hand gestures between you. In disbelief, you ask, “We are? Us?”</p>
<p>“Yes. In Light Of This Information, And Your Connection With Mutt, It Is Only Sensible That We Should Consider An Alliance.”</p>
<p>Your hand whips to your mouth. You hide behind it as you search him, processing. “An alliance. As in… the steps that lead to bonding and start with—” You realize something, leaning forward. “A meeting where you discuss the future. What we’re doing now. Black, is this a conclave? <em>Is this a date?!</em>”</p>
<p>You caught on. He flusters, red quickly covering his cheekbones. “It Is Only A Date If You Desire It To Be!”</p>
<p>“But, Black? I thought you hated me, and all humans! Why would you want me as an ally?”</p>
<p>He frowns. He admits he’s been rather… indirect, in his interest. Possibly to the point of denying it completely. “I Will Be Clear With You—Our Compatibility Is An Uncommon And Precious Thing, Especially Since It Is Shared With My Sibling. The Strength Of Our Combined Alliance Would Be Formidable.”</p>
<p>Some tension appears to leave you as you conclude, “So this is a practicality thing. Not because you have feelings for me.”</p>
<p>He lowers his eyes, distals digging into his pant legs. Are you really going to make him spell it out? He forces himself to meet your gaze. “No. I Can’t—Can’t Explain It, But, Believe Me. It Is Beyond Rationality.”</p>
<p>You’re stunned into silence. The lack of response makes him apprehensive. He rises to his feet, palms slamming onto the table as he adds, “Though Rationality Does Suggest That We Would Make A Fitting Match! Even If You Are Not Inclined To Share Your Affections, You Must Admit That Our Alliance Is A Wise Choice, And—”</p>
<p>You stop him with a hand to his shoulder. He freezes. “Sit down, Black. You’ll make a scene.” He surveys his surroundings. His table has drawn a few stares. He lower himself into his chair and observes you closely as you consider. Gradually, your demeanor warms, and you swirl your glass. “If this were a conclave, then I’d ask you something like, ‘What are you looking for in a relationship’ wouldn’t I?”</p>
<p>He nods tentatively. “…Yes.”</p>
<p>“Well?” you prompt, waving him onward. “What do you want?” His sockets bulge. You’re neither rejecting him, nor accepting his offer. You’re hearing him out. His spine straightens as he rises to the challenge.</p>
<p>“I Want To Cook Breakfast For Us Every Sunrise! We’ll Train Together! The Beast Will Run With Us Through The Woods. When We Go To Work, Mutt Will Watch Over Her And Take Pictures To Send To Us. We Will Live In A Large Estate, Far Away From My Meddlesome Cousins…”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Featuring Black being 30% less prickly than usual. It's been a long time since we've gotten his perspective and he's made some progress of his own. </p>
<p>Black, hurdling stacks of money at Reader's problems: Shut Up And Let Me Take Care Of You Already!<br/>Reader, still shook from whatever the fuck is going on with Mutt: Go off, I guess?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Chapter 28</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Axe didn’t go in to work. He stayed home, waiting for the other shoe to fall. It feels inevitable. Things couldn’t go back to normal after what’d happened. His schedule is interrupted. Everything is wrong—a few degrees off kilter. The cravings haven’t gone away, only now, they’re accompanied with a growing disturbance. He’d covered his tracks as best he could but it’s only a matter of time before someone notices. When the dreaded knock arrives, it pulls taut the tension that’d been tightening all day in anticipation of the consequences. He peers through the peephole and releases a breath. It’s only Mutt. Much preferable to armed and uniformed humans. The relief isn’t enough to fix his mood. The security chain jangles as he undoes the locks, opening the door so half of him shows through the gap, the hidden side shadowed, tightly clenching the handle of his weapon. It’s clear that neither is happy to see the other.</p><p>His smile is hardly more than a sneer, sharp at the edges. Mutt’s apathetic demeanor is frayed, his phalange tips twitching, raspy voice dripping with maliciousness as he asks, “gonna let me in?”</p><p>“ain’t a point if this’ll be taken outside anyway. i’m guessin you’re not here for pleasantries.”</p><p>“you’d’ve guessed right. this won’t be pleasant. for you, i mean.” The taller skeleton seizes the inside of the door and forces it to swing fully open, ripping clawmarks through the paint. His attention lands on the axe. His eyelights snap to Axe’s for a moment, the unsettling eagerness in them forewarning his lunge for the weapon. Axe jerks it away and stumbles back with a millisecond to spare.</p><p>He counters the aggression with his own, leveraging the length of the handle to shove Mutt past the threshold of the doorframe. “whatever beef you’ve got with me, you’d better keep it quiet. hate for you to bother my brother with business that don’t involve him.”</p><p>In an instant Mutt teleports behind him to the sofa, reclining his filthy shoes up on the coffee table. With unearned casualness he claims, “your bro’ll be more than bothered if you keep lettin’ m’lord’s warnings slip out of that broken head of yours. consider this your last reminder: stay away from y/n. else your little horrorshow here’s gonna become a solo act.”</p><p>The threat would’ve been answered by a blade buried in the bastard’s skull if Axe weren’t concerned about fucking up the furniture. Instead he takes a more verbal approach, countering, “i ain’t the only one with a brother. if you draw a single grain of dust from paps, i promise that pompous pain-in-the-neck of yours will have a long, painful death.”</p><p>They let their declarations of violence hang in the air. Axe huffs at the unyielding glare he gets. There has to be a better way to go about this. It’s not like Mutt’s asking the impossible here—he’d planned on keeping his distance from you anyway. He’s clinging to the last scraps of his control. Doesn’t want to know what would happen if he catches your scent again; hadn’t worked out so great the last time. But hell if he’s just going to let Mutt get what he wants after being such an asshole about it.</p><p>“let’s look at the situation here,” Axe begins, hoisting his hatchet up to rest on his shoulder. “you’ve tried intimidatin’ me into leaving y/n alone and i’m sure you’ve tried warning her away from me. hasn’t worked out so great, has it?”</p><p>Mutt growls but he brushes him off and continues, “since ya can’t really stop me, how about we reach an understanding. you do a lil somethin fer me, and i back off.” Conscious of the skepticism he’s receiving, he assures, “nothing big. it’s something you’d be doin’ anyway. ya see, i seem to have become something of a humanitarian. nasty habit, i know, real inconvenient for everyone. ‘specially the human. what a mess. but then mutt comes knockin’. now i know this monster’s killed more than his fair share of meatsacks. what does he do with leftovers, i wonder? probably just buries ‘em or dissolves ‘em in acid. what a waste.”</p><p>“i know where this is goin’.” Mutt interrupts, leaning forward, disgusted and reluctantly intrigued. “you wanna be my disposal service. so what, i drop you a couple bodies now and then and you leave y/n alone?”</p><p>Axe smile stretches. The tentative relief in Mutt’s tone tells him he may be able to get away with a little more. “once ya put it like that, it does seem rather small, don’t it? i’d be doin’ you a favor rather than the other way around. lucky for you, there’s something else i want. ya might be surprised at how relaxin’ it is to watch y/n sleep. heh. maybe you’re not surprised. probably already know. but seein’ as i’m supposed to stay away…i’m thinkin we can work out a remote viewing option. you plant a few hidden cameras around her apartment and i won’t have to set foot where you don’t want me.”</p><p>When Mutt doesn’t respond, he worries he’s overplayed his hand. The gold fanged skeleton sinks farther into the couch cushions and reaches for a dog treat that he doesn’t have. When he finally speaks up, it’s with an insult. “you’re a real twisted bastard. do you get off on violating her privacy? wanna watch me fuck her into the mattress ‘cause yer too screwy to do it yourself, is that it?”</p><p>It’s Axe’s turn to be revolted. “like i’d wanna watch a disgusting dog like you. cover up the camera if you’re gonna be gross. it’s her i wanna see.”</p><p>“and if you can watch from a distance, you won’t come near her? <em>ever?</em>”</p><p>A nod. Mutt’s unconvinced and Axe swears, “as long as you go along with my conditions. you bring me a corpse at least once a month. real subtle, so my bro doesn’t ask questions. and don’t draw out the death too much, you’ll make the meat toughen. i want at least two cameras with good, clear angles set up and streaming to my device.”</p><p>Mutt snorts. “i’ve got some conditions of my own. not going near her isn’t good enough. she texts you, you don’t answer. she knocks down your door, you run the other direction.”</p><p>“agreed. now get the fuck out.” The couch is suddenly vacant.</p><p>The other skeleton reappears close enough to rip Axe’s weapon out of his clasp. Mutt splits the handle over his knee and drops the axe’s halves to the floor with a clatter. “not nice when someone touches what’s yours, huh? so don’t even think about it. remember what i said. i catch a whiff of your foul scent hangin ‘round y/n, an’ it’ll be your brother’s bones i’m breakin.”</p><p>Mutt gives him no opportunity to respond. He vanishes, for good this time, leaving Axe to pick up the pieces.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>Mutt lands on his mattress. Its springs squeak as his back bounces atop it. He extends his arms upwards, flexing his phalanges as if the meaningless motion could dispel the lingering rush. He should’ve dusted Axe, not made a deal with him. Mutt rolls onto his side, squeezing his skull between his palms. M’lord won’t like those terms. Giving the enemy a view into your living quarters is as good as inviting him in. If Axe can see when you’re home, who you’re with, it’ll be all too easy for him to plan an attack. They’ll have to install more cameras, ones only they have access to, to offset that risk. He hopes m’lord is able to convince you they’re necessary. One or two hidden cameras could be gotten away with. Enough to cover each entrance and perimeter? It’d be too easy for you to stumble onto one, then they’d have a fuck-ton of explaining to do. Better if you’re given a half truth. An awareness of some cameras but not the full extent of them. It’s doubtful you’d agree to one in your bedroom. And without that, how will Mutt meet Axe’s condition of watching you sleep?</p><p>Restless repulsion crawls down his limbs and his distals dig deeper into his head. He doesn’t trust the creep’s intentions. ‘relaxing’ he’d said. What a load of shit. Mutt’s seen you sleeping on occasion. Checked in on you when you’d crash on the basement couch. Sure, it put him at ease to know you’re slumbering peacefully and that the runt’s not sniffing around again, but he’s certain Axe doesn’t have your safety in mind.</p><p>He exhales, sliding his hand over his skull. What kind of sicko would pick watching a woman sleep over any other kind of entertainment? Mutt’s no saint himself, but at least he prefers you aware and able to react rather than inert and passive<em>.</em> He supposes so long as Axe isn’t interested in making you sleep permanently he should consider himself lucky. And all the more, that he gets to pick off the people that’ll replace you as Axe’s prey. Mutt doesn’t understand why anyone would want to pass up the best part of the crime. If it keeps you out of it, he won’t complain.</p><p>He sits up, scratching the vertebrae under his collar. His tongue wets his teeth. No, that demand hadn’t bothered him one bit. The secrecy could spell trouble, but m’lord won’t find out. With the longer leash his brother’s given him, it’ll be easy to slip away on one of his vacation days and make a killing. He could start now. Release this energy before he’s alone with you again, and while you’re with the sole monster Mutt trusts with your safety.</p><p>The rational acknowledgment of your security with m’lord does little to calm the lurch of anxiety when he senses your distance. When you’re nearby, the little pings of emotion from your soul are like radar, giving him a decently accurate idea of where you are in relation to him. When you’re more than a few dozen yards away, the radar devolves to a compass, pointing him vaguely towards your north. Your blips of unease, surprise, and begrudging warmth tell him you’re in the direction of the city. He fumbles for his phone, reading the text alert where m’lord stated his intention to take you to dinner. Mutt recognizes the restaurant and contemplates intruding.</p><p>As he understands it, m’lord can’t kill you without possibly dusting the one he’s promised to protect. That strong disincentive is reassuring. Yet him killing you was never Mutt’s concern. It’s the hostage situation. M’lord can hurt and heal you as much as you like in his efforts to control Mutt’s behavior. In theory, the bond has made this even more effective as Mutt won’t need to be made to watch in order to feel your pain.</p><p>Of course, that theory wrongly assumes that he doesn’t enjoy experiencing your suffering secondhand. It could be on account of the context, the pleasure inextricably linked to it, but you underneath him…that intoxicating taste of your anguish and vulnerability…</p><p>He shudders, squeezing the spine of his neck. His fingertips exert increasing pressure as he drags them down, roughening the bone with his hatching, drawing dust. The sensation is there, detached. There’s no risk, no reward. No fear. Mutt blankly wonders what you feel from the action. Would you hurt him if you asked you to? Could you learn to enjoy it?</p><p>His hands fall away. He slumps to the floor, legs splayed. It wouldn’t be the same. If you didn’t want to kill him, it’d be hollow. Pointless. Just like his attempt to direct his LV towards himself. It only works him up further for the release that he can’t get without another participant. In order for there to be a winner, there has to be a loser. Mutt doesn’t care much about which he ends up as. He just wants to fight and let everything else fade away.</p><p>He shuts his sockets. When he opens them, he’s in an alleyway. His hood is up, head dipped to keep his skull in shadow. He hears the pounding of bass from a nearby club’s exit, a group of drunk humans diffusing from the chaos indoors. He stands, eyeing them, but doesn’t follow as they flood into the open streets.</p><p>There’s yelling, barely buffered by the walls of a crumbling apartment building. Through the window he spies the source: a human couple having a fervid shouting match. Mutt smirks. May as well do the neighbors a favor. He uses his narrow view inside the complex to shortcut inside. So heavily invested in their argument, it’s several seconds and a double take before they see him, swiftly shutting up and staggering back. Seizing one by the throat, the other is slammed into the cupboards with his gravity magic. They’re still stunned. Mutt wants to give them time to snap out of it somewhere that their screams won’t be suspicious.</p><p>The three teleport to a remote location. The ground is wet and marshy. The footsteps of the woman trying to run away are conspicuous, loudly splashing in the mud and splitting reeds underfoot. The man has frozen where he fell. Mutt faces him, admiring the pale, prone human as if he were a performance art piece. The expression one makes when facing death is rarely pretty, but it makes an interesting study. The too-wide eyes. Tight lips parting for rapid, shallow breaths. The man flinches as Mutt takes a step closer. The monster would title this one, ‘deer in the headlights’ or simply, ‘pathetic’.</p><p>“not gonna fight back?” he taunts. He doesn’t get an answer, only a near incoherent blabbering of ‘please don’t kill me’ and ‘why, why, oh god why’. He summons a sharp, spear-like bone and prods the human with it, shallowly slicing the skin. The man scurries backwards, crawling, on hands and knees. Mutt stops him with a boot to his stomach. “how ‘bout this. you land a hit on me, just one, an’ i’ll let you go.”</p><p>A lie. If the human manages to dent Mutt’s HP, he’ll be rewarded with a quick death. The falsehood isn’t enough to rouse hope and he remains incapacitated by fear. Mutt sighs. This is barely better than shooting fish in a barrel. He’s disappointed, not shy about taking that disappointment out on his victim. The bone is staked into the rain-soaked ground, clean through the man’s palm. A desperate scream. The saturated dirt can’t accommodate the spillage of blood and it puddles. He watches the fingers twitch and fruitlessly curl up on themselves like the legs of a dying spider. The human’s other hand clenches the base of the bone, as if to pull it out, but he can’t summon the strength.</p><p>A stone collides with back of Mutt’s skull. He instinctively rubs the area that’d been struck, prodding the sharp tenderness there. He spins around to see the woman, ten yards away, bloodless knuckles wrapped around a second rock, this one larger, wielded defensively in the air beside her head. After that is a blur ending with Mutt back at Axe’s doorstep, two bodies in too many pieces, bundled in a tarp.</p><p>“<em>this</em> what ya call subtle?!” the smaller skeleton’s says with visible contempt, ushering the placid Mutt towards the shed to spill the contents of his arms onto a worktable. Axe grabs a disembodied head by the hair and frowns at its warped face. “doubt it was quick either. you did a real shitty job of followin’ instructions. these ain’t gonna count.”</p><p>Mutt shrugs, “ok. then it’s a gift.” He considers bringing the creep a sample of his work a positive in itself. Just to give a little demonstration of who he’s dealing with, a bright red cherry atop his earlier threats.</p><p>Axe scoffs. “bring something better next time. these are filthy. what’d you do, make ‘em mud wrestle?”</p><p>“it got messy…” Mutt doesn’t bother to hide the satisfaction in his tone. The other skeleton stormily dismisses him after an earful about the conditions and being careful not to nick the intestines when he slaughters people. Mere noise. It doesn’t perturb him. Not when he’s floating, far above the flashes of memory, those pitiful humans unable to prevent him removing piece after piece.</p><p>He takes a shortcut to the shower. Whistling to himself, he steps under the stream of warm water with his soiled clothes still on, allowing the damning evidence to disappear down the drain. When all traces of his foul play are gone, he sloughs off the sopping wet fabric, squelching onto the bathroom tile to be dealt with later. He dries, dresses and ascends the stairs.</p><p>You’re nearby. He peers into the kitchen and living room, tracking you to the garage. You sit in the passenger side of m’lord’s parked car, engaged with his brother in conversation. Your don’t notice his presence until he wraps on the window, startling you with a meek, “boo.”</p><p>Your head swings to him, surprised transforming into a grin as you roll down your window. “Hey.”</p><p>M’lord sours at the interruption, but restrains his ire in favor of inquiring, “Is Our Business Resolved?”</p><p>“yup.” he leans his folded arms on the inside of the car door. Mutt realizes you’re in different clothes. “new digs?”</p><p>You nod. The sleeves are off-shoulder, as easy to slip you out of as that sinful little dress you’d worn to the party. Before he can remark on how impatient he is to see it on the hotel room floor, m’lord catches the glint in his eye and warns, “There Will Be No Philandering While Y/N Is In Formal Wear. The Dress Is To Be Kept In Good Condition For Its Next Usage.”</p><p>“Talking about a next time already, Black? How bold.” M’lord blushes scarlet. He begins to bluster but you interrupt, “I’m only joking. Relax. You said there aren’t any copies of that manual left so I’ll have to rely on the monster who has it memorized. Just promise if we do this again, you’ll order more for yourself than exclusively wine.”</p><p>A stiff nod, m’lord’s gloved hands firmly gripping his knees. You exit the vehicle, Mutt quickly curling an arm around your hips while his brother looms behind, locking up the car. He playfully nibbles the lobe of your ear as you laugh and wave him off.</p><p>When you disappear into Black’s bedroom to change, m’lord pulls him to the side, clarifying in a low voice, “The Axe Murderer Has Been Successfully Persuaded To Keep His Distance?”</p><p>“yeah. he agreed. but only if i put up a hidden camera so he can watch ‘er sleep.”</p><p>M’lord’s spine goes rigid and his teeth curl with disgust. “How Horrid. I Expect You Realize How Dangerous That Would Be? Hm. Well, It Is Fortunate That Your Bonded Has Agreed To My Provisions Of Security Measures. We Will Make Arrangements On The Night Of Her Return.”</p><p>Mutt nods absentmindedly. He anticipated why m’lord wanted to have words with you, but not that Black would buy you a dress. A real sexy dress, which happens to match his brother’s magic. He inspects the other skeleton. Expecting denial, he asks, “how’d your little date go?”</p><p>“There’s Nothing ‘Little’ About It, Papyrus! Take Something Seriously For Once!” Black’s demeanor softens after his initial outburst, “What I Meant To Say Was…It’s Vital That I Become Closer To Y/n. A Professional Arrangement Will Suffice For Security Against Your Alternates. But If I Am To Protect Her Against <em>You</em>, I Need Her Trust.”</p><p>Mutt’s stiffens. Something dark uncoils inside his soul, provoked. He scoffs, “protect ‘er from me? you’re actin like i’m the one who beat her until her blood stained the carpet. might be my memory’s bein weird…but wasn’t that you, m’lord?”</p><p>Must’ve struck a cord. Black rages, whisper-shouting, “How Many Times Must I Say It? If You Don’t Want To Hurt Her, Stop Endangering Yourself! This Is Especially True Now! You’re Bonded. If You Resume Your Downward Spiral You’ll Drag Her Down With You. Is That What You Want?”</p><p>You emerge from the bedroom once again wearing your normal clothing, cutting off his chance to respond. Your good mood wavers when you sense the tension between them. Rather than address it directly, you itch the back of your head and wonder, “Black? I have a question about the bond I forgot to ask you.”</p><p>M’lord’s exhales crossly and his glower gives way to neutrality. “Yes?”</p><p>“If I get high, will the bond treat intoxication like an emotion and get Mutt high, too?”</p><p>He gapes. “What A Ridiculous Line Of Inquiry!”</p><p>“Well?” you press, waiting on an answer. “It’d save money but I really need to know in case Mutt binges while I’m at work. That could be trouble.”</p><p>“…I Do Not Know.”</p><p>Mutt chuckles to himself. “we’ll figure it out, darlin’. do some independent research.”</p><p>You seek confirmation from Black, “Can you make an exception to the sobriety arrangement while we’re on vacation? For science?”</p><p>M’lord rests his hands on his hips, sighing, “I Suppose I Can, Since I’m Already Giving The Mutt Additional Time Off.”</p><p>“Thanks for being flexible, Black.” you smile, shortly afterwards shaking your head. “Wow, that felt surreal to say. But I mean it. Thanks.”</p><p>Once the duffel bag of drugs is in his possession, Mutt whisks you back to the hotel. He dumps the bag on the nightstand and slumps on the edge of the space themed bed. You sit beside him. Your soft hand slides back his hood and smooths over the back of his skull. “Is your head alright? I thought I felt a bump from you over the bond.”</p><p>“’s nothin. never been better. wait…” he kicks off his shoes and slides his back up against the headboard, pulling you into his lap so you’re cocooned between his arms and legs. “ahh. now i’ve never been better.”</p><p>You hum and burrow into his embrace, adjusting until your spine no longer digs into his ribs and your head rests on his collar bone. You remain that way, cozy and thoughtful, until sharing, “Black offered to train me in self defense. I’m thinking I’ll take him up on it, I could use some catharsis.”</p><p>“m’lord piss you off?”</p><p>“He didn’t, actually. Yeah, I know. I’m as shocked about that as you are. It’s just…I don’t know. Nothing was wrong, I just felt like I needed to hit something. If Black’s offering to be my punching bag…” you shrug.</p><p>Mutt’s breathing gets uneven. It’s happening. You felt his LV and it’s started <em>spreading</em>. His calmness is carried away on currents of amazement, flickers of satisfaction, and anxiety. The fact that he’s already affecting you so deeply does twisted and wonderful things to him. The thought of you becoming sick like him, suffering with him, someday even killing with him—both his soul and his LV soar with the possibilities.</p><p>That tantalizing future is shadowed by a stormy cloud of guilt. He knows how much it hurts to have an itch you can’t scratch, to be the host for a destructive force that always finds its way out. It’ll be especially bad without a fully formed understanding of what those violent urges are or how you can sate them. Or <em>try</em> to sate them, only succeeding at keeping them at bay for a blissful respite until they inevitably return, and stronger. Can he really stay bonded to you, aware of the hell that he’ll put you through? He’s poisonous. But… he can’t let go. He consoles himself with the intention to take care of you as best he can. If his mistress needs a scratching post for those new claws… “i’ll be your punching bag,” he volunteers breathily, nasal ridge nuzzling the crook of your neck.</p><p>You snicker, the lighthearted music of it doing wonders for his well-being. “I should’ve known you were into that. Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think I can spank you. You don’t even have an ass. And slapping your bones would hurt me more than it would you.”</p><p>“don’t have to use your hands. could hit me with anything.”</p><p>You lift yourself from his embrace to twist and look back, pushing his skull back with a boop. “Don’t distract me. We can discuss the logistics of all that later, right now I’m…I’ve got a lot on my mind. Black and I talked. About the bond, about the future. About you…”</p><p>“nothin bad?” Mutt recognizes the return of that belligerent feeling, a defensiveness in fear of M’lord worming his way into your friendship, getting between you and Mutt, taking you away and turning you against him. The emotion doesn’t last as you’re swift to reassure him, shaking your head.</p><p>“Nothing bad. I realized we had a lot in common, once he stopped acting like an insufferable jerk.” you snort. “Don’t worry, I haven’t been blindsided. It’s just surprising that he’s capable of being so <em>sweet</em>. I’m aware that despite this he still chooses not to be nice when he doesn’t need to be. Conditional kindness is hardly redeeming. And maybe that’s why it’s easier to picture him as my punching bag. Deep down, I feel like <em>he deserves it</em>.”</p><p>Mutt eyes you with disbelief and wonder. “an’ i don’t?”</p><p>“No. You don’t.” you rotate until your weight rests on his ribcage, stomach down, your arms winding around his waist. “I don’t want to hurt you—you deserve to be happy. You’re my good boy, remember?”</p><p>Your approval makes him shiver with pleasure as he holds you close and carefully scratches your lower back. “I don’t mean to say that your brother doesn’t deserve happiness. He does,” you admit. “I think he’s getting better. He’s trying. And we both wish you’d try a little more, too. If you’d meet us halfway. It’s hard to know what’s going on in that skull of yours. Even with the bond.”</p><p>“About that, actually…” you nibble on your bottom lip. “Black made the bond sound pretty serious.”</p><p>Mutt’s jaw tightens. He grows dismissive, brushing it off with, “m’lord takes everything too serious.”</p><p>“But this isn’t about Black. I want to know what the bond means to you.” your voice is filled with hope and understanding. To answer honestly—<em>it means you’re mine. it means you’re trapped, tied to me, and no matter how far you </em><em>go</em><em>, i can find you—</em>it’d ruin it.</p><p>It’s impossible for you to escape him, but Mutt would feel better if you didn’t even attempt to. If you run, he might chase. You deserve happiness much more than he does. Too bad no one gets what they deserve. M’lord’s lecture echoes in his mind… <em>If You </em><em>Resume</em><em> Your Downward Spiral You’ll Drag Her Down With You. </em><em>Is That What You Want?</em></p><p>No. He doesn’t want that. At least, not while his head’s clear. There are other things that he wants more and he knows he can’t have his cake and kill it too. Another vision for the future materializes in his mind’s eye. M’lord helping you handle your influx of LV gracefully, with discipline and training, so it doesn’t wreck you the way it does him. He’d keep Axe and the other alternates away from you, while m’lord heals you and keeps you safe when Mutt starts craving a bleaker future. Hell, maybe if they work together towards a common goal they’ll get along better, like they used to. The two of them against the world. A team again. Possibly a double team, if m’lord’s little dates go well.</p><p>His mirthful musing is met with an expectant stare on your end. Ah, he didn’t answer your question did he? “means we’ve got a lot of great sex ahead of us, darlin’.”</p><p>“Damn it, Mutt!” you scold without true irritation. He gets no complaints when he flips you over, pinning your back against the bed, and lavishing your mouth with his. He won’t worry about the future much. Not while the present’s this fucking perfect.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Almost a month since last update, sorry about that. Don't even have an excuse, I've just been playing video games like my life depends on it. </p><p>This was kind of a transitory chapter. Next up, sex, drugs, and a mysterious third thing that isn't rock and roll. (spoiler alert: the secret ingredient is crime) </p><p>I don't reply to every comment because I feel repetitive just saying thanks all the time, but I read and re-read each one, absolutely in awe and grateful for everyone's feedback! As always, thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!</p>
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